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Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 


Editor-in-  Chief 
Harley   M.   Leete,  '01 

Alumni   Editor 
Mary   Bell,  '98 

Associate  Editors 

Agnes  Frisius,  '01 

K.   Courtenay  Johnston,  '01 

Nathan   Moran,  '01 

Winfield   Dorn,  '02 

Clifford   H.   Wood,  '03 

Managed  by 
Bryan   Bell,  '03 


Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 


Stories  by  Students  of  the 
University  of  California 


Selected  and   Edited  by  the  Editorial  Staff 

of  the  University  of  California 

Magazine 


A.    M.    Robertson 

San  Francisco 

1901 


Copyright,  igoo 

by 
A.    M.    Robertson 


THE   MURDOCK   PRKSS 


TO    BENJAMIN    IDE    WHEELER,   PRESIDENT 

OF     THE      UNIVERSITY     OF     CALIFORNIA, 

AND    AMEY    WEBB     WHEELER,     HIS    WIFE, 

THIS    BOOK    IS    DEDICATED 


9S5160 


I. 

YE  NORTHERN  LIGHTS  THAT  DANCE  AND  GLOW 
ATHWART  THE  NORTHERN  SKY, 

YOUR  BRILLIANT  HUES  INTENSER  GROW 
THEN  FLICKER,  PALE,  AND  DIE. 

II. 
AND,  EVANESCENT  THOUGH  YE  BE, 

YOUR  DAZZLING  GoD-LIT  FIRE 
ENKINDLES  BOTH   IN   YOU  AND  ME 

A   SPARK   THAT  DOTH   INSPIRE. 

III. 

AND  SO  EACH  LITTLE  TALE  FOUND  HERE, 
LIKE  TO  THE  NORTHERN  LIGHT, 

Is  BUT  THE  FLASH  OF  AN  IDEA 

THAT    SPRINGS  OUT  FROM  THE  NIGHT. 

IV. 

IT    CLAIMS    NO    DEPTH,    ITS    END    THE    ART 

To   GIVE  A  MOMENT'S  PLEASURE, 

AND    THEN,    LIKE    NORTHERN    LlGHTS,    DEPART 
IN    ONE    SOFT    FLUSH    FOREVER. 

AGNES  FRISIUS. 


Preface 

The  principal  reason  that  these  stories 
have  been  gathered  together  and  given 
to  the  public,  is  to  start  the  fund  where 
with  to  erect  a  fountain  on  the  Campus 
of  the  University  of  California  to  be  in 
harmony  with  the  great  Hearst  archi 
tectural  plan.  This  fountain  is  to  be 
dedicated  by  a  grateful  student  body 
and  alumni  to  Mrs.  Phoebe  Hearst,  in 
token  of  their  high  esteem  for  her  and 
in  recognition  of  all  that  her  benevolence 
and  personal  interest  has  done  for  them. 

Aside  from  this  primary  motive,  we 
have  been  actuated  by  a  desire  to  show 
what  students  have  done  and  are  doing 
along  literary  lines,  independent  of  their 
collegiate  course.  Since  this  is  the  first 


6  Preface 

volume  of  stories  ever  published  in  the 
University,  we  have  had  a  wide  field  from 
which  to  select.  We  have  searched  the 
files  of  college  publications  and  other 
journals  and  have  selected  these  stories 
from  among  the  many  at  our  disposal 
which,  while  they  in  no  way  may  be 
deemed  masterpieces,  have  at  least  some 
one  excellence  to  commend  each  of  them. 
To  please  as  many  readers  as  possible, 
they  are  chosen  with  very  catholic  taste, 
some  for  felicity  in  local  color,  some  for 
their  ingenious  plot,  and  some  for  sub 
tle  character  analysis.  We  have  not 
chosen  stories  dealing  exclusively  with 
college  life,  as  in  so  doing  we  found  we 
must  lower  the  standard  of  the  book 
as  a  whole,  but  the  staff  has  selected 
stories  which  were  written  while  their 
authors  were  college  students,  with  ref 
erence  solely  to  their  literary  merit. 

THE  EDITORS. 


Contents 

PAGE 

TRAVIS  HALLETT'S  HALF-BACK 

Frank  Norris,  '94 9 

THE   PROUD  DIG  AND  THE  LAZY  STUDENT 

James  Hopper,  '98 37 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE   RIVER  WAYSTE 

Ida  H.  Ballard,  '94 53 

THE  SINGULAR  EXPERIENCE  OF  THE  GILSTRAPS 

Gertrude  Henderson,  '95    ...     72 

THE   CONFRATERNITY  OF  THE  HOLY  AGONY 

Harley  M.  Leete,  '01 102 

THE  LITTLE  MAID'S  TRAGEDY 

Mary  Sell,  '98 129 

THE  FATE  OF  THE   FOUR 

Centennia  Bar  to,  '98  (Mrs.  Leslie  Mott}  138 

A   MATTER  OF  STATE 

Richard  Walton   Tully,  '01    .  .  159 
SHADOWS 

Ralph  E.  Gibbs,  '98 191 

THE  SECOND  EDITION 

Agnes  Crary,  '92  (Mrs.  P.  L.  Weaver}  212 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back:':' 

By  Frank  Norris 

HOSE  ball?"  shouted  a  man  at 
Miss  Travis  Hallett's  elbow,  to 
any  one  that  would  listen  to  him. 

Travis  did  not  know  this  man,  and 
this  man  did  not  know  her.  They  did 
not  look  at  each  other  at  all.  They 
both  kept  their  attention  fixed  with 
very  painful  intensity  on  the  field. 

"  Whose  ball  ?  "  cried  the  man  again, 
bitterly, — "  the  other  side's  ?  " 

"  No,"  shouted  Travis,  so  as  to  be 
heard  above  the  noise;  "no, —  our  ball, 
I  think ;  that  was  the  fourth  down." 
Then  rapidly,  "  Yes,  yes,  there  goes 
their  full-back  down  the  field.  Our 
ball!  Our  ball!  Rah,  rah,— " 

2 


io     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

But  the  man  was  not  listening  to  her 
any  more.  He  had  put  his  hat  upon 
the  end  of  his  stick,  and  had  climbed 
up  in;  his  fceat,  and  was  trying  to  make 
a  noise  that  he  could  himself  hear.  For 
all  the  sounds  that  he  or  Travis  could 
utter  were  drowned  in  a  roar  from  the 
bleachers  that  split  the  drizzling  atmos 
phere  and  set  the  canvas  awnings  vibrat 
ing,  so  that  they  shook  down  the  rain- 
drippings  upon  the  crowd  beneath.  No 
one  thought  of  sitting  down.  Every 
one  stood  up  all  the  time,  and  not  only 
stood,  but  stood  on  the  seats  of  the 
bleachers ;  and  when  a  gain  was  made 
jumped  up  and  down,  and  yelled,  and 
threw  things  into  the  air. 

Back  of  the  fence,  along  the  side 
lines,  the  crowd  was  banked  half-a-dozen 
deep ;  and  from  time  to  time  the  refer 
ees  and  others  that  were  upon  the  field 
would  impatiently  gesture  towards  that 
quarter,  crying  out  that  the  noise  of  the 
shouting  prevented  the  teams  from 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back      n 

hearing  the  signals.  Then,  if  one  were 
sufficiently  near,  he  could  hear  in  the 
moment's  succeeding  quiet  the  grind 
of  the  canvas  jackets  upon  ^eack  other, 
as  the  lines  bent  shoulder  t{\  shoulder, 
or  could  catch  the  indifferent  voice  of 
the  referee  droning  out  "  Second  down 
— three  yards  to  gain  !"  or  again  could 
hear  the  sharp,  quick  tones  of  the  quar 
ter-backs  calling  the  signals  ;  the  sound 
of  heavy  bodies  striking  together  ;  the 
quick,  labored  breathing ;  the  occasional 
brief,  hoarse  shouts,  muffled  by  the  nose- 
guards  ;  and  then  the  dull  and  jarring 
crash,  as  the  whirling  wedge  smashed 
its  way  through  the  line. 

The  twenty-two  men  of  the  oppos 
ing  elevens  were  fouled  and  reeking  with 
soil  and  sweat,  their  long  hair  was  flung 
back  and  forth  over  their  eyes  and  fore 
heads  as  they  swayed  and  struggled. 

By  simple  or  whirling  wedges,  by 
end  -  runs  behind  interference,  or  by 
downright  dogged  smashing  through 


12     Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

the  center,  with  eyes  and  teeth  closed, 
Travis's  side  was  carrying  the  ball  down 
the  fiejd.  ;  And  now  they  were  on  the 
twejity^'five-yard  line,  and  now  on  the 
twenty,  £nd  noxv  their  left  half-back  had 
aHvahcect  the  ball  six  yards  around  the 
end,  and  now  the  whirling  wedge  had 
crushed  through  for  five  yards  more, 
and  the  goal  was  only  a  few  steps 
away. 

The  crowd  behind  the  side-lines  was 
beyond  all  control  now;  they  swayed 
back  and  forth  with  every  fluctuation  of 
the  ball,  tense  and  white  with  that  ex 
citement  that  hurts  and  sickens.  Over 
the  barrier  of  the  fence  they  leaned, 
with  outstretched  arms  and  clenched 
fists,  screaming  and  cursing  as  though 
in  the  battle  themselves,  exhorting,  im 
ploring,  or  applauding,  by  turns.  Back 
of  them  on  the  bleachers  the  air  was 
alive  with  the  winning  colors,  the  shout 
ing  was  incessant  now,  and  the  roar  of 
the  college  yell  was  coming  up  through 


Travis   Hallett's   Half-back     13 

the  chaos  of  sounds  like  the  rhythmic 
pulse  of  a  great  surge. 

A  man  standing  near  the  five-yard 
line  heard  the  captain  of  the  losing  team 
cry  out,  "They're  coming  again,  boys! 
You  must  stop  them !  For  God's  sake 
brace  up!  It's  the  last  ditch  now!" 

A  few  yards  more  and  the  goal 
was  theirs.  But  suddenly  the  whirling 
wedge  seemed  to  have  struck  a  solid 
wall,  and  was  thrown  back  upon  itself, 
spent  and  broken.  The  other  side  had 
rallied. 

"  First  down, —  no  gain  ! "  droned  the 
referee. 

Again  it  massed  against  the  opposing 
team,  moved  forward,  struck  the  line, 
and  came  to  a  dead  lock;  the  teams  be 
came  wedged  in  a  solid  mass  that  for  a 
moment  paused,  wavered,  and  then  came 
toppling  backward  to  the  earth. 

"No  gain!" 

A  few  seconds  more  and  the  other 
side  had  the  ball  on  downs,  and  from 


14     Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

far  away  at  the  other  end  of  the  field, 
where  were  the  bleachers  of  the  rival 
college,  sprang  up  a  great  bellow  of  ex 
ultation,  as  the  ball  shot  high  into  the 
air  from  out  the  brown  of  the  battle, 
and  went  careering  down  the  field  for 
fifty  yards. 

The  opposing  full-back  caught  it  near 
the  middle  of  the  field,  but  was  flung 
before  he  could  gain. 

"Our  ball  again,  anyhow!"  screamed 
Travis,  shaking  her  colors. 

The  ball  was  now  in  the  middle  of 
the  field,  close  under  where  Travis  and 
her  party  were  sitting.  Suddenly,  as  the 
scrimmage  broke  up  and  fell  apart,  she 
saw  it  passed  out  and  one  of  the  men 
behind  her  team  running  with  it.  This 
only  she  saw;  she  did  not  see  the  cun 
ning  manner  in  which  a  way  was  opened 
for  him.  She  did  not  see  the  quick, 
clever  building  up  of  the  interference 
that  closed  around  and  ran  with  him, 
and  that  threw  off  the  tackles  of  the 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back     15 

other  side  as  they  came  plunging  through 
the  line.  She  did  not  see  how  carefully 
he  kept  with  them,  adjusting  his  pace 
with  theirs,  and  with  his  hand  upon  the 
nearest  shoulder,  twisting  and  turning 
so  as  to  keep  one  man  at  least  between 
him  and  the  enemy's  tackles.  She  only 
saw  that  a  runner  of  her  side  had  the 
ball  and  was  gaining  ground.  By  the 
time  he  had  gotten  clear  of  the  end  all 
but  one  of  his  interferers  had  left  him, — 
either  downed  or  broken  up.  For  a 
moment  he  was  lost  sight  of  beneath 
half  a  dozen  of  the  opposing  side,  who 
flung  themselves  headlong  upon  him, 
but  the  next  instant  he  reappeared  upon 
the  other  side  of  the  group,  tearing  his 
way  free  of  them,  the  ball  still  tightly 
gripped  under  his  arm.  The  one  re 
maining  tackle  he  met  with  a  straight 
arm  guard  that  sent  him  reeling  back 
wards,  and  then  with  a  splendid  burst 
of  speed,  headed  down  the  field. 

The  cheers  and  the  yelling  were  deaf- 


16     Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

ening;  old  men  were  standing  up,  wav 
ing  their  hats  and  screaming  like  school 
boys.  The  bleachers  were  frantic,  and 
roaring  from  end  to  end;  every  one  was 
on  his  feet,  and  the  thunder  of  the 
shouting  was  as  the  thunder  of  artillery. 
Those  of  the  rival  college  were  tensely 
silent,  holding  their  breath,  and  digging 
their  nails  into  their  palms. 

It  might  have  been  a  touch-down 
from  the  middle  of  the  field  had  not 
the  runner  slipped  in  trying  to  dodge 
the  full-back.  But  he  staggered  an  in 
stant  upon  a  strip  of  slippery  turf,  and 
before  he  could  recover  himself,  the 
full-back  flung  himself  at  him,  caught 
him  around  the  thighs  between  waist 
and  knee,  and  threw  him  backwards  to 
the  ground. 

"  Forty  yards,  anyhow  ! "  shouted 
Travis. 

At  the  same  time,  while  the  teams 
were  streaming  up  for  the  next  scrim 
mage,  a  young  man  with  a  policeman's 


Travis   Hallett's   Half-back     17 

rattle  jumped  upon  the  railing  of  the 
bleachers,  and  raising  a  very  hoarse 
voice  to  the  limit  of  its  pitch,  inquired 
if  there  was  anything  in  particular  the 
matter  with  Adler.  As  one  man  the 
bleachers  thundered  back,  "  He 's  all 
right,  you  bet,  every  time  ! " 

He  of  the  rattle  seemed  to  fail  to 
understand,  for  he  asked  again,  Who 
was  all  right?  —  and  as  the  shout  lifted 
itself  again,  Travis  joined  her  treble  to 
the  huge  gamut  of  sounds  and  cried 
back,  "Adler !  " 

"  Who  ?"  asked  the  policeman's  rattle 
again. 

"Adler,"  shouted  Travis  and  the  rest. 

And  this  was  the  way  they  were  first 
introduced. 

Travis  saw  him  again  after  the  game 
was  over,  as  their  carriage  passed  close 
to  the  coach  that  held  the  team.  He 
was  just  from  the  field.  His  nose-guard 
was  flung  back  over  his  head  like  the 
raised  vizor  of  a  helmet,  and  his  long 


i8     Under  the  Berkeley   Oaks 

straight  hair  hung  far  over  his  eyes. 
He  had  not  yet  recovered  his  wind, 
and  was  panting  just  as  you  have  seen 
a  locomotive  pant  at  the  terminus  of 
its  run.  He  was  yet  chewing  his  gum, 
and  was  alternately  shouting  for  a  lime 
or  a  cigarette. 

She  remembered  now  having  seen 
him  before  at  the  practice  game  early 
in  the  season.  At  that  time  he  had 
been  under  the  whip  and  spur  of  the 
coach.  She  remembered  this  coach  as 
a  big  man  in  a  blue  cloth  cap,  who  con 
tinually  wore  an  expression  of  hopeless 
disgust  upon  his  face,  who  never  seemed 
pleased  at  anything  the  team  could  do, 
and  who  went  about  the  gridiron  shout 
ing,  "Play  it  up  sharp,  now!"  from 
principle.  It  seemed  very  strange  now 
to  see  him  delightedly  slapping  Adler 
on  the  back,  and  almost  leaping  in  the 
air  for  joy.  So  she  began  to  feel  an 
admiration  for  this  great  Adler,  and 
commenced  to  experience  a  share  of 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back     19 

that  hero-worship  which  was  paid  by 
the  men  of  his  own  college. 

As  they  were  all  talking  of  the  game 
all  the  way  home,  Travis's  brother  re 
marked  to  her  escort,  "Did  you  catch 
on  to  that  trick  of  Adler's,  of  grabbing 
the  runner  around  the  waist  and  pull 
ing  him  through  the  line  with  him  ?" 

The  escort,  who  was  opposed  to  foot 
ball,  made  a  vague  sound  of  assent. 

"I  noticed  it!"  exclaimed  Travis. 

"He's  just  got  on  to  that  this  sea 
son,"  said  the  brother.  "  Jove !  but 
that  was  a  fine  run  of  his,"  he  contin 
ued.  "Why,  those  tackles  could  not 
hold  at  all ;  they  were  just  fruit  for 
him." 

"  I  will  never  go  to  see  another  game 
of  football  again,"  said  Mrs.  Hallett, 
"and  I  don't  think  your  father  ought 
to  allow  you  to  go,  Travis.  I  don't 
see  where  it  is  any  better  than  a  prize 
fight,  and  so  brutal,  too.  Time  and 
again  I  saw  eight  or  ten  men  pile  right 


20     Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

up  on  top  of  the  one  with  the  ball.  It 
was  just  a  mercy  that  his  life  was  not 
crushed  out  of  him.  It  is  shameful. 
Some  one  ought  to  do  something." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Mrs.  Hal- 
lett,"  said  the  escort;  "and  besides,  the 
effects  upon  these  young  men  are  very 
bad,  too;  they  think  that  that  is  all  col 
lege  is  for.  It  takes  their  mind  from 
their  regular  work,  and  teaches  them 
coarse  and  brutal  habits." 

"And  then,"  went  on  Mrs.  Hallett, 
"what  is  the  use  of  it  all?  What  ben 
efit  do  they  derive  from  it?  Can  it  ever 
be  of  any  use  to  them  afterwards  ?  To 
me,  it  seems  very  silly  to  see  twenty-two 
young  men  in  the  field,  and  twenty-two 
thousand  around  it,  get  so  worked  up 
over  such  a  triviality." 

"That  is  so,"  said  the  escort.  "If 
it  was  baseball,  now,  where  one  can  see 
some  display  of  science  and  skill,  I 
could  see  the  attraction;  but  this  is  a 
mere  pushing  and  slugging  contest." 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back    21 

"What  fruit!"  said  Travis's  brother, 
under  his  breath. 

A  week  later  Travis  met  Adler  at  a 
tennis  tournament  where  he  was  the 
winner.  She  could  hardly  recognize  the 
graceful  young  man  in  the  white  flan 
nels  and  dainty -colored  sash,  as  the 
dirty,  gasping,  canvas-clad  savage  of  the 
game.  There  was  a  picturesqueness 
about  both  costumes,  but  it  was  hard  to 
reconcile  them  as  being  the  outward 
adornments  of  the  same  person.  Later 
on,  however,  she  had  occasion  to  admire 
him  in  a  full-dress  suit,  for  he  fell  in 
love  with  her  at  once,  and  began  to  call 
with  unvarying  regularity. 

Adler  took  Travis  to  the  theater 
about  a  month  later,  after  he  had  gone 
out  of  training  and  was  permitted  to  be 
up  after  ten  o'clock.  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  been  out  with  her  in  the 
evening  without  a  chaperone.  They 
had  never  been  very  much  alone  to 
gether,  and  so  on  this  occasion  felt  very 


22     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

mildly  and  vaguely  adventurous.  Adler 
thought  he  had  never  seen  Travis  in 
better  spirits. 

It  was  a  good  company  and  a  good 
play,  but  in  the  scene  of  the  fourth  act 
one  of  the  actors  was  atrociously  and 
unpardonably  weak,  and  the  audience 
began  to  laugh. 

"It 's  too  bad  !  "  said  Travis.  "Why 
do  they  laugh?  It  spoils  the  play  for 
themselves.  When  I  go  to  a  play  I 
go  to  be  amused,  and  not  to  criticise. 
I  can  get  just  as  much  fun  out  of  a 
Wild  West  melodrama  or  a  real-fire- 
engine-and-live-horses  play  as  the  very 
worst  gallery  god.  Don't  you  know, 
you  don't  get  your  money's  worth  if 
you  don't.  It  is  just  a  matter  of  cheat 
ing  yourself." 

Adler  was  not  listening  to  her  at  all. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  just  above  the 
heavy  stucco  moldings  at  the  angle  of 
one  of  the  topmost  boxes,  which  was 
vacant,  and  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  make 


Travis  Hallett's   Half-back     23 

his  teeth  meet  through  his  nether  lip 
in  his  effort  to  keep  from  crying  out, 
and  was  holding  himself  to  his  seat 
with  both  hands  to  avoid  springing  to 
his  feet.  At  the  point  in  the  plaster 
ornamentation  where  he  was  looking 
there  was  a  deep  joint,  or  fissure,  where 
two  parts  of  the  molding  had  not  been 
properly  joined,  and  had  by  the  settling 
of  the  building  widened  to  form  a  long 
deep  crack  that  reached  back  to  the 
lathing  and  woodwork  behind.  Down 
this  crack  Adler  saw  a  dull  and  vibrat 
ing  glow  of  red,  and  out  of  it  was  curl 
ing  a  very  faint  blue  haze. 

Mechanically  he  reached  underneath 
his  seat  for  his  hat.  Then  he  said  very 
quietly  to  Travis,  "  Come,  let 's  get  out 
of  this." 

She  turned  to  him  surprised. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  why,"  he  said,  "when 
we  get  outside;  only  come  now,  and 
quick, —  quietly,"  he  added  as  she  hur 
riedly  reached  for  her  cape. 


24     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

With  one  hand  under  her  arm  and 
half-risen  from  his  seat,  he  was  listening 
very  intently  for  the  sound  of  one  cer 
tain  word  which  might  at  any  moment 
now  be  shouted  through  the  house.  He 
was  still  listening  for  it  as  he  passed  out 
into  the  aisle  with  her,  and  took  her  arm 
in  a  larger  and  surer  grip,  and  braced 
himself  for  a  sudden  start  at  an  instant's 
warning. 

"Are  you  sick?"  whispered  Travis, 
as  they  moved  towards  the  door. 

Adler  did  not  hear  her,  because  he 
was  measuring  the  distance  that  yet  lay 
between  him  and  the  dull  green  valves 
marked  "  Exit." 

One-third  of  the  way  up  the  aisle  he 
heard  something  drop  with  a  crash,  and 
knew  without  turning  his  head  that  it 
was  the  plaster  cornice  falling  in.  Then 
he  heard  what  he  had  been  listening  for, 
and  a  man  sitting  near  the  boxes  in  the 
gallery  jumped  back  over  his  seat  and 
shouted  "  Fire ! "  Adler  was  ready,  and 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back      25 

started  forward  at  the  sound  as  a  sprinter 
starts  from  the  pistol.  He  was  nearly 
half-way  up  the  aisle  with  her  before 
it  became  blocked,  and  his  headway 
checked.  In  the  midst  of  the  rising 
tumult  in  the  house  behind  him  he 
heard  a  little  strident  bell  whirring,  and 
the  asbestos  curtain  dropped  with  a  long 
whish  and  a  bang,  the  iron  curtain  rat 
tling  down  behind  it.  Then  a  fire 
detail  with  a  pick-hatchet  in  his  hand 
swung  himself  from  the  prompt -side 
of  the  flies  over  into  the  highest  gal 
lery,  and  began  hastily  loosening  a  fire 
plug. 

Since  the  first  warning  shout  there 
nad  been  no  outcry,  and  as  yet  the  only 
sounds  were  the  whirring  of  the  fire- 
drill  signal,  a  furious  chopping  and 
pounding  somewhere  over  the  stage,  and 
the  ominous  shuffle  and  grind  of  the 
thousands  of  feet.  Now  Adler  saw  the 
helmet  and  blue  shoulders  of  a  lieuten 
ant  of  police  above  the  heads  of  the 
3 


26     Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

crowd  against  the  wall  of  the  audito 
rium,  and  heard  him  shouting:  "There 
is  no  danger.  For  God's  sake,  gentle 
men,  don't  crowd,  and  we  '11  all  get 
safely  out!" 

Adler  could  hear  him  repeating  this 
long  after  he  was  unable  to  see  him. 

Several  others  in  the  crowd  took  up 
his  cry,  and  soon  many  were  crying  out, 
"Don't  crowd!  don't  crowd!" 

So  far  the  audience  on  the  whole  had 
•  behaved  very  well,  and  as  yet  there  was 
no  panic. 

"It's  all  right,  little  girl,"  he  said  to 
Travis.  "Don't  you  be  afraid;  we'll 
get  out  of  this  all  right." 

"O,  I'm  all  right,"  she  answered 
bravely. 

They  were  moving  forward  slowly, 
and  were  even  near  enough  to  the  door 
to  hear  the  clang  of  the  engines  arriving 
in  the  street  outside.  A  broad  feather 
of  water  spurted  out  across  the  audi 
torium  from  the  section  of  hose  that 


Travis   Hallett's   Half-back     27 

the  detail  had  screwed  to  the  fire-plug, 
and  the  fire-drill  bell  still  whirred  stead 
ily  on. 

"Don't  crowd,  gentlemen  !"  cried  the 
officer.  "Don't  crowd.  There  is  plenty 
of  time.  We  're  all  going  to  get  safely 
out!" 

As  he  was  speaking  the  last  words  a 
whole  section  of  plaster  on  the  wall 
back  of  the  top  gallery  leaned  outward 
and  fell  with  a  great  noise,  and  a  huge 
cloud  of  dense  black  smoke,  shot 
through  with  flickering  tongues  of  fire 
and  hundreds  of  winking  sparks,  came 
billowing  out  into  the  body  of  the 
house. 

"No  danger,  gentlemen!"  shouted 
the  police  lieutenant.  "For  God's 
sake,  don't  crowd!" 

He  might  as  well  have  spoken  to 
stampeded  cattle. 

Adler  and  Travis  were  now  in  the 
middle  of  a  solid  jam,  mad  with  terror 
and  excitement,and  men  and  women  were 


28     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

fighting  with  each  other  with  their  teeth 
and  their  nails  for  the  life  they  loved. 
People  jumped  over  one  another's  shoul 
ders,  and  were  borne  along  by  the  crowd 
like  floats  upon  a  stream.  There  was  a 
fearful  noise  of  shouting  and  screaming, 
and  the  sounds  of  the  trampling  and 
stamping  of  feet,  and  worse  sounds  of 
blows  and  grappling.  A  thick  yellow 
smoke  surrounded  them  now,  choking 
and  blinding  them.  Adler  had  to  throw 
back  his  head  and  gasp  for  air,  like 
a  drowning  man.  Sparks  and  little 
charred  chips  began  falling  upon  them 
from  the  galleries,  and  he  could  catch 
the  pungent  smell  of  burning  hair  as 
the  cushioned  upholstery  of  the  seats 
burned.  Then  a  part  of  the  highest 
gallery  crumbled  in,  and  a  man  began 
to  scream  that  he  was  burning,  and  for 
the  first  time  Adler  heard  the  roar  and 
crackle  of  the  fire.  It  might  have  been 
behind  him  or  above  him — he  could 
not  tell.  The  smoke  was  so  thick  that 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back     29 

he  could  only  see  for  a  radius  of  a  few 
feet.  Through  the  murk  he  could 
catch  glimpses  of  struggling,  shadowy 
forms ;  of  clutching  hands  coming  up 
from  the  depths  below,  and  now  and 
then  a  face  would  be  turned  towards 
him,  horribly  white  and  writhing, — just 
such  sights  and  faces  as  one  sees  in  a 
Dore  Inferno. 

The  pressure  of  the  crowd  around 
him  became  almost  unbearable;  and 
what  with  this  and  the  choking  smoke 
there  were  times  when  he  could  not 
breathe.  Ladies  were  separated  from 
their  escorts,  or  else  deserted  by  them, 
and  once  Adler  caught  sight  of  a  man 
with  a  sword-cane,  trying  with  it  to 
open  a  passage  for  himself  through  the 
press.  Several  of  the  crowd  had  either 
fainted  or  succumbed  to  the  smoke; 
and  as  Adler  went  trampling  on,  driven 
by  the  momentum  behind,  he  felt  hands 
and  arms  reaching  and  clutching  at  his 
legs  and  feet.  But  there  were  other 


30     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

heaps  that  he  trod  upon  which  were 
quite  still  and  inert. 

At  last  he  was  vomited  forth  into  the 
foyer,  and  still  dragging  Travis  with 
him,  stumbled  out  into  a  freer  space, 
where  the  smoke  was  not  so  dense  and 
the  press  not  so  close,  and  where  he 
had  a  chance  to  pause  an  instant  and 
determine  the  situation. 

He  and  Travis  had  been  sitting  in 
one  of  the  front  rows  of  the  house,  so 
that  when  the  rush  came,  although  they 
had  managed  to  get  a  considerable  start, 
they  were,  nevertheless,  among  the  last 
to  reach  the  foyer.  Here  upon  either 
side  the  stairways  from  the  galleries  lea 
down  to  the  common  entrance  of  the 
house.  When  the  real  rush  began,  two 
solid  columns  had  streamed  down  these 
stairways,  and  meeting  before  the  door 
had  by  means  of  the  greater  impetus 
gained  by  coming  down  the  stairs  forced 
a  way  through  that  part  of  the  crowd 
coming  from  the  lower  portion  of  the 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back     31 

house,  and  had  now  cut  them  off  from 
the  entrance  entirely.  A  greater  part 
of  those  in  the  pit  had,  however,  man 
aged  to  make  their  escape  before  the 
rush  down  the  gallery  stairways  had  be 
gun;  so  when  Adler  and  Travis  reached 
this  point  they  found  themselves  in 
comparatively  freer  space,  but  cut  off 
from  further  progress  by  the  struggling 
columns  from  the  galleries  in  front  of 
them. 

Adler  cast  a  quick  glance  around 
him.  Behind  him  the  auditorium  seemed 
like  a  furnace,  and  he  felt  the  hot  breath 
of  the  fire  coming  by  puffs  through  the 
scorched  valves  of  the  doors.  There 
was  no  time  to  lose.  Outside  he  could 
catch  the  rapid  panting  and  coughing 
of  the  engines  at  work  pumping. 

Directly  in  front  of  him  he  saw  that 
the  crowd  from  the  galleries,  meeting 
each  other  head  on,  had  come  to  a  dead 
lock,  and  that  the  only  chance  of  break 
ing  through  the  masses  was  at  their 


32     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

point  of  impact;  a  sudden  pressure  at 
this  point  might  succeed  in  breaking  up 
the  deadlock,  and  bending  the  opposing 
forces  outward  in  a  V-shaped  form, 
through  which  one  might  be  able  to 
struggle  to  the  street  beyond. 

But  where  did  he  get  the  trained 
eye  and  the  coolness  of  judgment  that 
told  him  this  was  the  thing  to  do,  or 
what  experience  had  given  him  the  fac 
ulty  of  rapid  thought  in  emergency, 
and  the  power  of  acting  quickly  upon 
it  ?  How  had  he  kept  his  head 
throughout  the  fierce  excitement  of  the 
last  few  moments,  or  how  had  he  man 
aged  not  to  lose  his  feet  while  he  was 
clutched  at  and  dragged  at  from  behind 
and  from  below  ?  The  crush  and  lurch 
of  the  crowd  was  but  the  old  scrimmage 
of  the  gridiron  field,  and  the  confused, 
blind  rush  that  enveloped  him  was  no 
worse  than  the  trained  and  disciplined 
charges  of  the  revolving  V  or  the  flying 
wedge,  and  for  one  brief  instant  Adler 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back    33 

thanked  his  God  that  he  was  a  'Varsity 
half-back,  and  knew  how  to  use  his 
weight  and  wits. 

There  was  not  one  minute  to  be 
wasted  now,  because  the  heads  of  the 
brass  nails  on  the  exits  behind  him 
were  fiercely  hot.  Adler  knew  just 
what  was  to  be  done  and  how  he  was 
to  do  it. 

He  stepped  back  to  gain  headway, 
put  his  arm  tightly  around  Travis,  and 
ran  in  with  head  and  shoulders  bent 
very  low.  He  had  done  this  hundreds 
of  times  before  in  practice  and  match 
games,  when  his  captain  called  upon 
him  to  buck  the  center,  but  never  be 
fore  had  he  done  it  with  such  iron  de 
termination  as  now.  He  had  Travis 
around  the  waist,  and  was  dragging  her 
with  him  through  the  way  he  was  open 
ing  in  the  crowd.  It  was  the  same 
trick  that  Travis's  brother  had  seen 
him  use  in  the  game,  and  it  worked 
with  the  same  success. 


34     Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

He  had  rammed  the  throngs  in  front 
of  him  just  at  the  point  where  they  had 
met,  and  so  great  was  the  pressure  from 
the  rear  of  either  column  that  it  re 
quired  only  a  comparatively  insignifi 
cant  force  to  break  them  apart, —  and 
Adler  supplied  this  force.  You  can 
get  perfectly  analagous  conditions  by 
pressing  the  tips  of  your  index-fingers 
against  each  other,  point  to  point.  As 
long  as  you  maintain  them  in  a  straight 
line  with  one  another,  they  will  remain 
as  they  are ;  but  deviate  them  from  this 
position  by  ever  so  little,  and  they  will 
at  once  break  outward  or  inward  in  the 
shape  of  a  V. 

Adler  began  to  be  really  frightened 
only  after  they  got  out  into  the  street, 
and  some  one  was  helping  him  to  carry 
Travis,  who  had  fainted,  into  a  drug 
store  on  the  corner.  He  had  ceased  to 
feel  brave  and  cool ;  his  knees  knocked 
together  when  he  thought  of  what  they 
had  both  escaped.  He  was  quite  unfit 


Travis  Hallett's  Half-back    35 

to  pose  as  a  hero,  because  he  felt  weak 
and  sick  at  his  stomach,  and  because 
his  hat  was  jammed  down  immovably 
over  his  eyes  and  ears. 

But  he  forgot  all  about  this,  and  the 
world  and  all  things  visible  were  turned 
upside  down  when  he  went  home  in 
the  hired  coupe  with  Travis,  with  her 
head  on  his  shoulder  and  his  arm 
around  her  waist. 

Adler  is  captain  of  the  team  now, 
and  next  season  his  name  will  be  in 
every  one's  mouth,  and  you  will  see  his 
picture  in  the  dailies  and  illustrated 
weeklies,  and  you  will  hear  his  weight 
and  condition  discussed  by  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen  who  do  not  know  him, 
across  supper-tables  and  between  dances. 
And  the  year  after  that  he  graduates, 
and  is  to  be  married  to  Travis  Hallett, 
and  is  to  go  with  her  to  Europe  for  a 
while,  after  which  he  will  go  into  busi 
ness  in  old  Mr.  Hallett's  office. 


36     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"But,"  said  the  escort,  who  did  not 
approve  of  the  game  of  football,  "noth 
ing  was  proven.  A  man  does  not  spend 
his  life  in  pulling  young  ladies  out  of 
burning  theaters.  Because  his  football 
training  was  of  service  to  him  on  that 
occasion,  it  does  not  go  to  show  that  it 
will  ever  be  of  any  other  material  ben 
efit  to  him  hereafter." 

"  I  think  you  will  find,  however/' 
answered  Mr.  Hallett,  rubbing  the 
stubble  on  his  chin  the  wrong  way,  "  I 
think  you  will  find  that  the  same  quali 
ties  that  make  a  good  football  man 
would  make  a  good  soldier;  and  a  good 
soldier,  sir,  is  a  man  good  enough  to  be 
any  girl's  husband." 

"Which,"  said  Travis,  as  she  heard 
of  the  conversation  later  on,  "is  per 
fect]  v  true." 


The  Proud  Dig  and  the 
Lazy   Student 

By  James  Hopper 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  long,  long  ago, 
before  the  University  had  its  new 
buildings,  before  Stanford  had  invented 
football,  when  Professor  Putzker  spoke 
only  nineteen  languages,  and  co-eds 
were  yet  a  minority,  there  lived  in  Cali 
fornia  a  Lazy  Student. 

O  but  he  was  lazy — a  masterpiece 
of  perfected  laziness  !  On  sunny  days 
he  spent  his  time  on  the  steps  of  North 
Hall  (then  a  temporary  building),  puff 
ing  at  a  charred  piece  of  corncob  with 
just  enough  nicely  calculated  force  to 
keep  a  light.  His  long  legs  stretched 
over  half-a-dozen  steps ;  his  hazy,  blue 


38     Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

eyes  wandered  over  the  landscape. 
Passers-by  stumbled  regularly  over  the 
legs ;  they  looked  into  the  hazy  blue 
eyes,  and  their  wrath  was  quelled. 

Once  in  a  while,  as  the  North  Hall 
bell  toned  musically,  he  seemed  to 
remember  something.  His  face  con 
tracted  in  agony;  his  dreamy  blue  eyes 
took  tints  of  nameless  terror ;  he  half- 
rose,  stiff  with  resolve.  But  his  muscles 
would  relax ;  he  fell  back  limply  on  his 
steps,  took  a  puff  of  relief,  and  a  wave 
of  beatitude  smoothed  the  face  to  its 
customary  placidity.  These  paroxysms 
came  about  fifteen  times  a  week,  and 
observers  noticed  that,  on  a  small  piece 
of  cardboard  lined  in  little  squares,  the 
Lazy  Student  had  marked  with  crosses 
the  time  of  occurrence  of  these  dread 
ful  attacks. 

Sometimes,  on  warm  spring  days, 
the  Lazy  Student  forsook  North  Hall. 
Early  in  the  morning  he  sauntered  up 
Eglantine  Canyon  (this  was  before  the 


The   Dig  and  the   Student     39 

supremacy  of  co-eds).  In  short,  labori 
ous  relays,  cut  by  long  periods  of  de 
licious  rest,  he  puffed  and  sighed  his 
way  to  a  little  knoll,  where  he  threw 
himself  down  in  the  supreme  ecstasy  of 
toil  done.  There,  lying  on  his  back  in 
the  high  grass,  he  passed  the  day.  Gold 
en  beams  stealing  through  the  grass- 
blades  played  merrily  about  his  nose. 
The  air  vibrated  with  mysterious  sounds 
of  throbbing  life  ;  the  quail  called  from 
afar ;  the  lark  tinkled ;  and,  nearer,  there 
were  nameless  little  chirps  and  squeaks 
and  little  cries — rustlings,  scamperings, 
whisperings.  For  the  little  beasts  of 
the  hill  liked  this  lazy  man,  and  he 
was  so  nice,  so  quiet,  so  beautifully  lazy 
that  they  took  all  sorts  of  liberties  with 
him.  Often  a  scurrying  squirrel  ran 
plumb  over  him,  and  spiders  were  wont 
to  weave  their  webs  all  about  him. 
Once,  one  of  these  tireless  little  spin 
ners,  a  tiny  golden-hued  thing,  had 
built  a  bridge  from  the  tip  of  his  shoe 


40     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

to  the  tip  of  his  nose.  He  watched 
her  with  one  eye  as  on  this  foundation 
she  elaborated  a  fragile  net.  Then  a 
happy,  buzzing  flylet  had  become  en 
tangled,  and  the  Lazy  Student  under 
went  a  terrible  moral  crisis.  Should 
he  save  the  fly  and  disappoint  the  spi 
der,  or  should  he  please  the  spider  and 
see  the  fly  devoured  ?  The  spider  was 
certainly  his  first  friend,  and  saving  the 
fly  would  be  a  deliberate  breach  of 
trust.  He  decided  for  the  spider.  But 
just  as  she  was  pouncing  on  the  strug 
gling,  helpless  little  fly,  his  innate  sym 
pathy  for  the  weak  suddenly  got  the 
better  of  him.  He  moved  his  foot, 
straightened  his  nose,  and  pifF!  the 
web  broke,  and  buzz  !  the  fly  was  off. 
The  little  golden  spider  jumped  on  his 
knee,  hurried  up  and  down  to  view  the 
catastrophe,  then  resolutely  began  weav 
ing  again.  Suddenly  the  Lazy  Student 
had  a  vision  of  her  sensation.  He 
imagined  the  affrighted  and  question- 


The  Dig  and  the  Student    41 

ing  dismay  at  the  sudden  destructive 
act  of  the  great  unknown,  brutal  force, 
the  passionate  "why?"  of  the  little  spi 
der.  And  a  big  tear  dropped  languidly 
a-down  his  nose.  Ah,  the  life  of  a  lazy 
man  is  not  always  a  happy  one  ! 

Above,  lazy,  fluffy  clouds  floated 
across  the  blue — eternal  invitation  to 
airy,  floating  life.  He  loved  the  clouds, 
did  this  Lazy  Student. 

One  day,  as  he  lay  in  this  interesting 
position,  he  suddenly  felt  an  impulse  to 
yell. 

Where  he  got  that  idea  I  will  not  at 
tempt  to  tell.  The  act  necessitated  a 
considerable  amount  of  physical  exer 
tion.  He  had  to  draw  in  a  big  breath 
of  air,  then  expel  it;  the  vocal  clouds 
must  be  set  vibrating.  Could  he  have 
forgotten  to  calculate  this?  I  fear  it. 
Communion  with  nature  is  intoxicating. 
I  know  of  a  dignified  professor  who, 
when  in  the  mountains,  rolls  down  every 
hill  of  slope  gentle  enough  to  impart 
4 


42     Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

some  slight  degree  of  decorum  to  such 
indecorous  action.  Our  hero  did  not 
roll  down  the  hill,  but  he  yelled,  and, 
worse,  he  yelled  in  German,  something 
that  he  had  heard  in  his  childhood — in 
the  happy  days  when  there  was  a  nurse 
to  take  care  of  him  and  tell  him  stories 
— and  which  suddenly  rhythmed  back 
into  his  head: — 

O,  was  soil  es  bedeuten 

Das  ich  so  traurig  bin. 

(He  might  have  said  faulig.) 

Soft,  far,  dreamily  indistinct,  the  echo 
came  floating  back.  Restarted!  Again 
he  yelled.  Again  the  echo  returned. 
He  took  a  big  gasping  breath;  then, 
leaning  back,  he  closed  his  eyes,  over 
come  by  the  sudden  realization  of  what 
might  be. 

The  remainder  of  that  term  the 
North  Hall  station  was  abandoned. 
The  Lazy  Student  passed  his  time  on 
the  hill.  ' 

At  the  beginning  of  the  next  semester 


The   Dig  and  the  Student    43 

there  went  through  college  vague  rumors 
that  the  Lazy  Student  had  reformed. 

It  was  true.  He  was  attending  reci 
tations.  One  morning,  registration  week, 
he  had  sauntered  into  the  recorder's 
office. 

He  had  been  at  college  three  years 
and  a  half.  He  found  that  he  had  five 
hours'  credit.  He  calmly  put  down 
one  hundred  and  twenty  hours  on  his 
registration -card.  This,  happening  a 
long,  long  time  ago,  before  red  tape  had 
been  invented,  was  quite  possible. 

But  what  was  singular  was  his  choice 
of  studies.  His  card  read  something 
like  this:  German  i,  do.  2,  do.  3,  and 
so  on  to  German  58;  French  i,  do.  2, 
do.  3,  and  so  on  to  French  51.  Span 
ish,  Italian,  Hebrew,  Chinese,  Sanskrit, 
Icelandic  appeared  in  the  same  propor 
tion.  One  hundred  and  twenty  hours 
in  languages !  Putzker  paled  before 
this. 

One  day,  during"  German  46  b.,  the 


44     Under  the  Berkeley   Oaks 

Dig,  glancing  over  his  spectacles  toward 
a  corner  of  the  room,  was  startled  at 
the  sight  of  the  Lazy  Student,  sprawled 
comfortably  in  a  corner  chair,  with  half- 
shut  eyes  permeating  himself  with  the 
atmosphere  of  lore.  An  hour  later,  at 
French  53  c.,  the  Dig,  making  for  a  seat, 
stepped  on  some  one's  feet.  Turning 
to  apologize,  he  met  the  mournful,  re 
proachful  look  of  two  hazy  blue  eyes. 
At  Spanish  37,  everywhere  he  went  that 
day,  he  met  our  lazy  friend. 

It  puzzled  him  and  it  irritated  him. 
What  right  had  this  long,  lazy,  unkempt 
personage  to  profane  the  learned  haunts 
with  his  languid  presence?  It  was  pos 
itively  insulting. 

But  he  had  to  stand  it.  The  ex-bum 
attended  recitations  religiously.  Half- 
asleep  most  of  the  time,  when  called 
upon  to  recite  he  was  transformed. 
His  body  stiffened  with  a  snap,  his 
eyes  opened  and  flashed  genius,  and  he 
translated,  translated,  translated,  tearing 


The   Dig  and  the  Student     45 

his  way  along  like  a  torrent,  rushing 
over  all  obstacles.  He  tossed  his  head 
like  a  fiery  nag,  snorted  and  charged  on 
till  the  moderating,  imploring  "  Kritisch ! 
kritisch  !"  of  the  professor  became  mild 
open  -  mouthed  astonishment.  When 
finally  stopped,  he  dropped  to  his  seat 
and,  after  a  final  tremor,  regained  his 
usual  indescribable  ease  of  posture,  while 
the  professor  muttered,  "Ya,  gut ;  you 
haf — you  haf  de  geeft  of  languish." 
And  a  stinging  envy  penetrated  the 
heart  of  the  Dig. 

Every  day  at  four  o'clock  the  Lazy 
Student  could  be  seen  making  his  way 
by  easy  stages  toward  Eglantine  Can 
yon.  Under  his  arm  he  had  a  pile  of 
books — a  Tower  of  Babel  of  Greek, 
Sanskrit,  Latin,  German,  Hebrew,  etc. 
In  the  evening  he  returned,  flushed  and 
happy  with  the  sense  of  duty  done. 
He  certainly  had  a  remarkable  gift  for 
languages.  And  the  Dig  who  toiled 
and  toiled  over  a  paltry  twenty  hours  a 


46     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

week  was  taken  with  a  formidable  hate 
for  that  lazy,  worthless,  shiftless  Rip 
Van  Winkle  who  bummed  along  one 
hundred  and  twenty  hours  of  the  same 
subjects. 

One  day  after  Hebrew  27,  during 
which  the  Lazy  Student  had  starred  the 
Dig  into  the  shades  of  mediocrity,  the 
latter  made  a  mighty  resolution.  He 
would  follow  his  rival ;  he  would  cling 
to  him  like  a  leech  and  spy  his  method, 
wrest  the  secret  of  his  success  ! 

The  Lazy  Student  started  for  the 
hill,  and  the  Dig  followed.  It  was  not 
difficult  to  keep  up.  The  Lazy  Student 
sighed  along  one  hundred  feet,  then 
rolled  limply  on  the  ground.  There 
he  recuperated  a  few  minutes,  his  legs 
stretched  like  some  gigantic  compass. 
With  a  heart-rending  groan  he  started 
up  again,  to  repeat  the  same  perform 
ance  with  gradual  diminuendo  of  walk 
ing  stages  and  crescendo  of  resting 
periods.  The  Dig  followed  these  ma- 


The   Dig  and  the  Student    47 

neuvers,  wondering.  Creeping  through 
the  grass,  jumping  from  tree  to  tree,  he 
followed  our  unconscious  hero.  Two 
or  three  times  he  almost  stumbled  upon 
him  during  one  of  his  numerous  rests. 
At  last  an  ecstatic  sprawl  in  the  grass, 
a  formidable  sigh  of  relief,  and  a  total 
immobility  lasting  many  minutes  told 
that  the  destination  had  been  reached. 
Silence  reigned.  The  Dig  heard  his 
heart  pitapatting.  The  Lazy  Student 
did  not  budge.  A  butterfly  perched 
on  his  nose,  a  squirrel  peeped  at  him 
through  the  grass;  but  he  did  not  move. 
A  minute  passed.  Another.  The  Dig 
began  to  feel  ridiculous.  The  labori 
ous  puffing  of  a  train  toiling  up  a  grade 
seemed  to  reproach  him  for  his  mo 
mentary  idleness.  He  was  wasting  his 
time  up  here,  with  Sanskrit  36  to  pre 
pare.  He  metaphorically  kicked  him 
self.  It  was  ridiculous.  He  was  just 
on  the  point  of  sneaking  away  when 
a  great  crackling  sent  the  butterfly  off 


48     Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

in  winged  flurry  and  the  little  squirrel 
scampering  in  laughable  terror.  The 
Lazy  Student  was  stretching  himself.  A 
majestic  and  resounding  yawn  followed. 
Then  a  rustling  of  paper.  He  had 
picked  up  a  book.  He  began  reading 
aloud : — 

"  Wenn  ich  ein  Pferd  hatte,  so  wurde 
ich  nach  San  Francisco  reiten." 

Far,  musical,  prolonged,  came  back 
a  voice : — 

u  If  I  had  a  horse  I  would  go  to  San  Fran 
cisco." 

The  echo  was  translating  ! 

A  great  wrath  nearly  choked  the  Dig. 
So  that  was  the  way  !  While  he  digged 
and  toiled  laboriously,  painfully,  cease 
lessly,  that  lazy,  worthless,  shiftless  bum 
merely A  great  indignation  throb 
bed  in  his  head.  But  he  kept  quiet. 
Ah,  two  could  play  the  same  game  ! 

For  two  hours  the  Lazy  Student  read 
—  read  in  French,  in  German,  in  Span- 


The  Dig  and  the  Student    49 

ish,  in  Hebrew,  in  Greek,  in  Latin,  in 
Syriac,  in  Sanskrit,  in  other  languages. 
And  the  echo  translated — translated  in 
its  measured,  melodious,  golden  voice. 

Many  of  the  lessons  were  also  the 
Dig's,  and  the  echo  was  doing  double 
duty.  When  the  Lazy  Student  had  fin 
ished  the  sun  had  set.  A  gray,  melan 
choly,  foggy  night  was  falling.  The 
Dig  remained.  The  Lazy  Student  took 
not  Old  English.  The  Dig  did.  And 
he  wanted  a  translation. 

That  night  was  a  bad  one  for  the  in 
habitants  of  the  little  town  of  Berkeley. 
Up  in  the  hills  the  elements  seemed  to 
groan  in  terrible  nightmare.  Thunder 
rolled  menacingly;  lightning  seared  the 
sky.  Sudden  gusts  of  wind  howled 
past  dismally.  In  the  morning  only 
did  the  struggle  cease,  and  a  bright  sun 
dispelled  all  gloom. 

A  rancher  came  down  from  the  hills. 
He  told  a  queer  story.  Passing  along 
a  ridge  at  night,  he  had  witnessed  a 


50     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

strange  spectacle.  On  a  knoll,  erect, 
defiant,  a  young  man  with  long  black 
hair  and  shining  spectacles,  holding  a 
book  at  arm's-length  read  aloud  in  some 
weird  tongue.  It  sounded  something 
like  this :  "  Gewat  him  tha  on  uhtan 
mid  aerdage  ofer  sandhleothu  to  saes 
farude,"  and  other  kindred  buzzing, 
rasping,  whirring  cries.  At  each  word 
thunder  answered  from  the  hill  as  if  the 
elements  revolted  at  such  sounds.  The 
wind  hooted  dismally;  nameless  shrieks 
and  groans  came  from  the  canyons. 
With  a  sort  of  frenzy,  the  weird  reader 
shouted  louder  and  louder, — seemed  to 
taunt  and  defy  the  elements.  A  yellow 
moon  glancing  at  intervals  through 
dirty,  sulphurous  clouds  glamoured  the 
scene  in  sickly  light.  The  rancher  had 
fled  in  terror. 

That  afternoon  the  Lazy  Student, 
on  the  point  of  spreading  himself  in  his 
accustomed  pastoral  study,  found  it 
occupied.  A  man  was  stretched  in  his 


The   Dig  and  the  Student    51 

customary  place.  The  Lazy  Student 
approached.  The  man  did  not  move. 
When  nearer,  the  Lazy  Student  re 
marked  that  the  body  was  stark  and 
stiff.  The  face  was  black. 

One  glance  was  sufficient.  With  a 
howl  of  terror  the  Lazy  Student  scam 
pered  down  the  hill.  He  got  down 
without  one  stop.  He  gave  the  alarm 
and  the  body  was  brought  down. 

It  was  the  Dig.  He  was  not  quite 
dead.  In  a  few  days  he  regained  con 
sciousness,  but  only  to  fall  into  the  hal 
lucinations  of  a  terrible  fever.  In  his 
delirium,  he  imagined  himself  engaged 
in  a  terrible  struggle  with  the  echo  of 
the  hills.  The  Dig  had  got  it  into  his 
head  to  make  the  echo  translate  Old 
English.  The  latter  had  vigorously 
protested,  and  an  epic  struggle  had 
taken  place.  To  scraps  of  Old  English 
the  tortured  echo  had  hurled  back  name 
less  imprecations  —  thunder,  lightning, 
earthquake.  The  proud  student  had 


52      Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

persisted,  and  an  extra-vigorous  retort 
had  felled  him  to  the  earth. 

For  weeks  he  struggled  in  the  throes 
of  his  hallucinations.  Finally,  little  by 
little,  his  mind  cleared  of  its  fearful 
fantasies  and  he  became  convalescent. 
But  he  had  forgotten  all  his  languages, 
and  had  acquired  an  overpowering  re 
pugnance  to  language-study.  A  word 
of  Old  English  whispered  in  his  ear 
would  cause  an  epileptic  fit.  Poor  fel 
low  !  He  turned  to  mathematics. 

The  Lazy  Student  graduated.  He 
was  the  class  medalist.  He  now  trans 
lates  great  works  of  foreign  tongues. 
Although  famous,  he  has  always  clung 
with  touching  fidelity  to  the  home  of 
his  childhood. 


The    Legend    of  the    River 
Wayste 

By  Ida  H.  Ballard 

LEGEND  says  that  there  stood  on 
the  south  boundary  of  Friesland 
the  castle  of  the  Lord  Wenceslaus  Gees- 
tewandach,  one  of  the  greatest  barons 
of  Friesia. 

Lord  Wenceslaus  was  an  old  man  and 
had  been  a  Crusader.  His  eldest  son 
was  now  a  Free  Lance  in  Saxony,  whose 
Duke  was  suzerain  of  Friesland ;  the 
younger  son  hunted  boars  at  home. 

Dame  Adelgunda  Geestewandach  it 
appears,  Scott  and  others  to  the  con 
trary,  had  none  of  those  medieval  qual 
ities,  the  recital  of  which  so  disheartens 
modern  womanhood.  She  was  neither 


54     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

tall,  nor  sloping- shouldered,  nor  fair- 
haired.  She  was  not  gentle  nor  minis- 
trant ;  she  was  no  Catherine  Barlass, 
nor  did  she  bid  palmers  and  trouba 
dours  to  her  iron-bound  chamber  for 
long  converse.  She  was  a  lean,  diligent, 
prayerful  woman,  who  spun  and  wove 
from  five  to  five,  and  went  to  bed  with 
the  birds  that  she  might  arise  at  five  to 
spin.  She  had  spinners  from  the  vil 
lage,  and  weavers  from  the  town  of  the 
Wayste.  Her  woolen  and  flaxen  clothes 
and  embroideries  had  fame  both  in 
Bruges  and  Lubeck ;  and  her  children 
and  her  husband  went  forth  to  bound 
ary  wars,  tournaments,  and  the  Saxon 
and  German  courts,  bedight  in  the 
fancies  of  a  soul  that  looked  not  be 
yond  its  distaff  and  beads. 

Among  the  weavers  was  a  dyer's 
daughter  from  the  town,  who  had  wed 
ded  the  captain  of  the  castle  guard. 
Salva,  says  the  legend,  was  small  and 
fair  and  gentle.  She  wove  much  and 


The  Legend  of  the  Wayste    55 

talked  little,  and  was  wont  to  sit  in  the 
garden  at  vespers,  though  others  in  the 
castle  went  to  chapel,  to  the  Iron 
Mother  that  William  of  the  Broken 
Point  a  century  before  had  set  up  in 
the  east  bastion,  or  to  the  shrine  that 
stood  in  the  north  hall.  This  garden 
was  a  bit  of  ground  under  the  north  wall 
where  Dame  Adelgunda  grew  simples 
for  her  household. 

Salva  was  the  dyer's  only  daughter, 
and  in  his  fortress  home  she  had  be 
come  a  good  housewife.  For  eight 
years  she  had  worked  on  a  great  golcj- 
thread  tapestry,  captained  by  pearls, 
which  the  dyer  meant  to  give  his  liege 
lord  on  his  seventeenth  birthday. 

There  was  no  daughter  in  the  castle, 
and  Salva  being  gentle,  and  slow  of 
speech,  and  light  of  step,  and  fair  even 
as  a  baron's  daughter  should  be,  there 
fell  upon  her  the  duties  that  are  a  daugh 
ter's,  which  were  none  the  less  sweet  to 
Salva,  for  that  their  fellow  privileges  were 


56      Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

not  hers  as  well.  She  was  first  weaver, 
and  waited  in  the  Dame's  chamber,  and 
stood  near  her  chair  at  table.  She  sat 
within  the  circle  of  firelight  in  the  hall 
when  the  Baron  told  to  his  son  and  fol 
lowers  tales  of  the  Crusades,  and  of 
France  and  Rome,  for  he  had  journeyed 
much. 

Salva  had  been  five  years  a  wife.  Five 
years  the  castle  walls  h^d  whispered  the 
soft  echo  of  her  comings  and  goings, 
her  breathed  prayers,  her  lowly  incense 
to  the  great  men  and  to  the  great  God 
above  her.  And  the  unseen  shuttle  of 
her  simple  life  of  love,  duty,  and  care 
had  woven  about  and  through  the  castle 
a  shadowy  tapestry,  costlier  and  more 
beautiful  and  more  wonderfully  patterned 
than  the  great  gold-thread  tapestry,  and 
captained  by  words  and  deeds  set  more 
freely  in  it  than  the  rich  dyer  dared  set 
his  pearls. 

The  legend  does  not  say  that  Salva 
had  any  faults.  Such  old  stories  have 


The  Legend  of  the  Wayste    57 

a  pleasant,  healthy,  and  cheerful  fashion 
of  generalizing  largely.  Heroines'  noses 
and  tempers,  moral  views  and  peccadil 
los  are  described  and  put  away  under 
two  good  old  adjectives,  which,  when  all 
is  said  and  done,  describe  a  woman  as 
thoroughly  and  generously  as  she  need 
wish  to  be.  She  was  "  fair  and  gentle/' 
says  the  legend.  Being  fair,  her  eyes, 
whether  large  or  small,  looked  forth 
fearlessly  and  earnestly,  and,  being  gen 
tle,  modestly  as  well ;  and  being  fearless, 
earnest,  and  modest  in  her  glances,  she 
was  wise  as  well  as  fair,  and,  being  gen 
tle,  put  that  fair  wisdom  to  such  practice 
as  Christ  approves. 

Dame  Adelgunda  was  virtually  child 
less  ;  for  her  eldest  son,  as  became  a 
knight,  was  ever  away,  and  the  younger 
disrelished  her  chamber,  where  distaffs 
and  litanies  made  scant  harmony  with 
visions  of  squares  of  spears  and  fierce 
boarhounds.  She  was  indeed  childless 
until  the  dyer's  daughter  came  to  serve 
5 


58     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

in  the  castle.  From  the  first  the  Dame 
liked  Salva's  footstep ;  then  there  was  a 
companionship  in  the  ready  hand  and 
arm  at  her  chair ;  a  satisfaction  in  pass 
ing  up  a  bit  from  her  trencher  or  a  sup 
from  her  ale ;  a  pride  in  saying,  "  My 
Lord  Wenceslaus,  't  is  a  Christ's  head 
done  by  Salva.  I  think  it  good," — then, 
"quite  as  good  as  Saul  of  Bruges  sold 
my  cousin  of  Deitcheufleitchen " ;  a 
pleasure  in  peeping  from  the  casement 
at  vespers  upon  the  bowed  head  in  the 
garden ;  an  exultation  when  the  gold 
thread  tapestry  was  done,  and  the  dyer, 
with  the  burgomaster  and  the  burghers 
of  the  town,  rode  through  the  forest 
and  across  the  Wayste  in  substantial 
state  to  present  the  gift  to  his  liege  lord. 
She  thought  that  only  Salva  could  have 
done  it — Salva  guided  by  her.  She 
flushed  with  delight  when  the  Abbot 
of  Deitcheufleitchen,  who  was  fair  to 
become  a  cardinal,  and  even  then  a 
writer  of  monstrous  large  books,  said 


The   Legend  of  the  Wayste  59 

he  tarried  on  the  Wayste  to  see  three 
things  —  Geestewandach  himself,  the 
Dame's  chest  of  cloths,  and  the  wife 
of  the  Captain  of  the  Guard,  who  was 
deemed  in  Deitcheufleitchen  "the  fairest 
handmaid  that  ever  served  on  Wayste." 

"Aye,  my  lord,  they  say  aright,"  she 
answered  proudly,  and  turning,  "Here 
is  Salva.  She  hath  one  fault  only — 
the  Captain  loves  her.  I  would  that 
my  Lady  of  Wayste,  to  whom  I  have 
prayed  these  forty  years,  had  sent  me 
a  snooded  maid.  I  like  not  the  Cap 
tain's  rights." 

And  later  she  said  when  the  maids 
went  forth  to  gather  osiers  on  the 
Wayste :  "  Linger  not,  Salva.  The 
river  is  a  long  way,  and  there  be  rob 
bers  about,  though  the  Duke  boasts  he 
hath  hanged  them  to  a  hundred  trees ; 
and  my  lord's  enemies  burrow  in  the 
wood.  Be  nimble,  girl ;  I  am  lonely  if 
the  sun  but  shines  on  thy  head  and  not 
on  mine." 


60      Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

And  she  muttered  to  herself,  "  I  am 
an  old  woman,  very  old,  to  wait  the 
wench's  looks  and  words  as  I  did  e'en 
my  lord's  once.  When  she  is  about, 
the  maids'  litanies  are  like  the  har 
monies  the  angels  sang  St.  Anthony. 
I  forget  my  ora — saints,  forgive  !  I 
have  so  little  to  pray  for." 

Salva's  chamber  was  a  turret  next  my 
lord's  bed-chamber.  Many  times  was 
she  called  by  night  by  the  restless  Dame 
to  do  some  trifling  service,  and  so  often 
was  she  called  that  she  kept  always  a 
rush-light  burning  in  the  turret  beneath 
the  one  window;  but  by  dawn,  because 
of  the  thick  smoke,  she  was  glad  to  rise 
and  blow  it  out,  and  dress  by  the 
square  of  white  shadow  that  copied  on 
the  floor  the  pallid  sky  above.  The 
sill  was  so  high  that  she  could  reach 
it  only  with  the  point  of  her  shoulder, 
and  here  she  often  idled,  looking  north 
ward  to  the  sea ;  or  rather  to  the  pink 
fog  lying  faintly  on  the  land's  edge, 


The  Legend  of  the  Wayste    61 

which  only  the  searching,  glad  light  of 
sunrise  vouchsafed  to  her. 

She  stood  thus  some  time  one  spring 
morning,  thinking,  as  she  often  thought 
at  that  hour,  of  her  father  and  the 
town,  of  the  cathedral  and  the  pageants, 
and  of  how  much  she  still  missed  these 
things  that  she  yet  loved,  when  a  man 
on  the  forest  road  came  down  to  the 
river.  He  took  off  his  clothes  and 
made  them  into  a  bundle,  holding 
which  on  his  head  he  crossed  the 
stream,  and  on  the  castle  bank  briefly 
attired  himself,  for  he  was  dressed  as  a 
serf.  Salva  watched  without  seeing  him 
until  he  took  up  his  staff  and  ap 
proached  the  castle.  He  was  tall  and 
straight  and  old,  and  he  did  not  walk 
like  a  serf,  but  in  the  manner  of  a  free 
man.  As  he  came  nearer  she  recog 
nized  him.  He  was  a  freeman  and 
from  town.  He  was  the  gardener 
Jogund. 

Now,  the  last  gossip  from  the  town 


62      Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

had  had  evil  tales  of  Jogund.  The 
Count  of  Horzmund  had  carried  away 
his  son  some  years  before  to  be  a 
muleteer,  and  Jogund  had  borne  him 
self  badly  since.  He  quitted  his  great 
gardens  and  went  among  the  soldiers 
and  wanderers  outside  the  town  walls, 
and  drank  with  them,  and  gave  them 
his  money  and  clothes.  His  gardens 
went  to  waste,  his  customers  forgot 
him,  and  the  town  watchmen  drove 
him  home  with  their  staves  when  they 
found  him  wandering  on  the  streets, 
stupid  and  lost.  Silent  Salva  cried  hid 
den  tears  when  she  heard  these  woful 
things  ;  for  Jogund  had  been  her  fath 
er's  friend,  and  had  brought  her  apples 
every  summer,  and  his  first  onion,  and 
had  come  on  feast  days  on  his  slow, 
heavy  oak  barge  to  bear  her  father  and 
herself  to  his  gardens.  She  had  loved 
the  black  barge.  It  slipped  through 
the  shining  waters  of  the  Wayste,  lin 
gering  on  the.  spits  and  under  the 


The  Legend  of  the  Wayste    63 

banks,  and  swinging  athwart  the  slow 
tide  at  the  touch  of  every  alder  arm 
and  willow  bough. 

When  she  recognized  Jogund,  her 
heart  misgave  her  painfully.  She  ran 
through  the  Baron's  chamber,  and  sped 
down  to  the  garden  and  through  its 
door,  the  key  of  which  she  carried. 
Below  was  Jogund  passing  on  the 
shingle. 

"Jogund,  Jogund,"  she  cried,  "come 
up,  come  up  ! "  And  when  he  came, 
they  sat  in  the  garden  and  he  told  her 
of  his  troubles.  His  land  was  gone — 
sold,  and  the  money  gone.  He  had 
naught  but  his  smock,  and  was  come. to 
swear  fealty  to  the  Baron  and  become 
his  man. 

"  Since  my  boy  is  a  serf,  I  will  be  no 
freeman.  He  eats  the  black  bread,  and 
so  must  I.  I  would  have  brought  him, 
but  I  could  not  find  him.  I  asked  all 
the  soldiers,  all  the  friars,  all  the  singers 
who  come  on  Wayste,  but  none  had 


64     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

news  of  him.  If  he  is  dead,  God  be 
good  to  a  good  boy!  The  Baron  will 
take  me  for  his  man,  for  I  can  make  a 
garden/' 

Jogund  became  the  Baron's  man, 
and  made  a  garden  on  the  Wayste  un 
der  the  north  wall,  where  Salva  could 
look  down  upon  him,  and  shed  for  his 
broken  heart  such  tears  as  made  the 
pink  fog  a  string  of  dancing  diamonds, 
a  gay  carcanet  upon  the  bold  North  Sea. 

But  of  all  this  Dame  Adelgunda 
knew  nothing.  One  twilight,  when  the 
household  was  gathering  in  the  hall, 
she  by  chance  looked  from  her  window 
upon  the  garden,  and  saw  Salva  pass 
through  the  garden-door  and  down  the 
hill  to  the  gardener's  hut.  He  sat  on 
the  bench  by  the  door,  and  she  sat 
beside  him. 

"  He  is  from  her  town,"  thought  my 
lady,  and  forgot  the  matter. 

Again  she  missed  Salva  from  the  hall, 
but  bethought  herself  of  the  gardener, 


The  Legend  of  the  Wayste    65 

and  sent  there  that  she  return.  It  vexed 
my  lady  that  Salva  could  find  such  con 
tent  in  a  peasant's  hut,  and  so  she  said 
when  Salva  came,  and  sent  her  to  the 
shrine  to  say  forty  aves;  but  the  Baron 
said  it  should  be  but  twenty,  and  all  for 
him.  Salva  had  whispered  hardly  three 
when  my  lady  wanted  her  blue  silken 
cloak — a  mere  pretense,  says  the  legend. 
Salva  went  to  seek  it,  and  coming  back 
the  Dame  bade  her  keep  her  aves  that 
night,  as  the  hall  was  cold,  and  say  them 
at  matins;  and  muttered  to  herself  the 
while,  "  I  could  box  her  for  her  fairness 
and  her  patience,"  and  then  loved  her 
more  because  she  was  so  fair  and  still. 

By  day  Salva  was  yet  faithful  and 
ever  at  hand;  but  she  said  vespers  in 
the  garden  no  more  and  played  no  more 
games  in  the  court  and  hall.  The  maids 
noted  this,  and  said  she  must  hunger  for 
her  town  since  she  sought  old  Jogund 
so  often  and  staid  so  long. 

"  She    shall     not    leave    the    castle," 


66     Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

vowed  the  Dame.  "  She  shall  love  no 
one  but  me.  'T  is  ill  enough  that  I 
should  be  forever  treading  on  the  heels 
of  that  great  wolf-hound,  her  husband 
—  I  who  have  done  so  much  for  her! 
Why  goes  she  to  this  man  ?  Cannot 
the  begging  friars  tell  her  of  her  people? 
And  what  need  she  know?  Is  not  the 
castle  great  enough  for  her?  What 
other  maid  hath  so  much  ?  No,  not  in 
all  Friesia  is  there  such  a  mistress  as  I. 
She  is  spoiled,  the  wench,  and  I  shall 
beat  her!" 

And  she  laid  her  leather  thong  sharply 
across  Salva's  shoulders,  who  turned  a 
frightened  face  upon  the  Dame  and, 
crying  out,  ran  away.  At  supper  my 
lady  repented  of  her  anger,  and  passed 
up  to  Salva  so  many  morsels  that  my 
lord  took  away  her  trencher,  saying  she 
sinned  by  giving  to  eat  those  who  had 
said  no  grace. 

"Who  is  thy  gardener?"  she  asked 
of  Salva. 


The  Legend  of  the  Wayste    67 

"  My  father's  friend,"  answered  Salva 
timidly. 

"And  what  dost  with  him  ?  " 

"  He  talks  of  home." 

"  Home?     This  is  thy  home." 

"  Yes,  my  lady." 

"  Thou  art  happy  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lady." 

"  But  he  talks  forever.  Thou  art 
always  away,  it  seemeth  to  me." 

"  Only  at  vespers.  He  was  rich  once, 
my  lady,  and  happy,  and  had  a  boy,  but 
all  is  gone." 

"  Tush !  he  is  a  lazy  fellow,  who 
sought  my  lord's  service,  and  talks  be 
cause  he  is  lazy.  Thou  canst  be.  talked 
to  within  the  wall,  since  thou  wilt  not 
talk  thyself.  I  will  talk  to  thee.  Thou 
art  a  good  child  to  listen,  and  I  like  to 
have  thee  about.  I  love  thee,  Salva." 

"  Yes,  my  lady,"  murmured  Salva. 

"  Thou  goest  no  more  to  this  gossip. 
I  want  thee  to  promise." 

But  Salva  stood  silent.     The  Dame's 


68     Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

brows  thickened  and  her  cheek  flushed. 
Would  this  whelp  of  a  sea-town  re 
fuse  ? 

Salva,  seeing  the  frown,  said  fearfully, 
"  I  cannot,  my  lady.  I  love  Jogund. 
I  always  loved  Jogund." 

"  Thou  shalt  not  go  without  the 
walls.  Give  me  the  key.  I  shall  com 
mand  the  guard  that  thou  goest  not 
over  the  draw-bridge  nor  the  foot-bridge. 
Now,  get  hence,  and  may  the  Mother 
of  Wayste  pray  away  my  anger  !  " 

"  So  it  happens,"  says  the  legend, 
"  that  the  Dame  sat  in  her  high  chair 
alone,  and  said  a  pater  and  a  threat,  an 
ave  and  a  vow,  all  that  day,  and  the  next, 
and  the  next  —  for  Salva  came  not  to 
pray  her  pardon,"  not  knowing,  poor 
innocent,  what  it  is  to  be  jealous  and 
think  others  as  mad  as  herself. 

"The  Dame  is  hard  with  thee,"  said 
the  Captain  to  Salva.  "  Thou  art  a 
gentle  seabird,  and  thou  shalt  go  with 
out  the  gates  and  see  thy  peasant  man. 


The  Legend  of  the  Wayste    69 

Look  thou  bringest  me  no  trouble, 
for  the  Dame  beest  strong  with  my 
lord." 

"  I  had  not  thought  to  disobey  my 
lady,"  answered  Salva. 

For  three  days  she  did  not  see  Jo- 
gund,  who  sat  sadly  on  the  bench  before 
his  hut  when  the  day  was  done  and 
watched  the  garden-door  for  her  com 
ing.  Salva  had  been  minded  not  to 
disobey  the  Dame,  but  when  she  saw 
Jogund  waiting  for  her,  she  said  that 
she  would  go  to  him,  and  the  Captain 
bore  her  out,  saying  he  would  wait  for 
her. 

After  an  hour  she  was  coming  swiftly 
when  the  garden-door  opened,  and  Dame 
Adelgunda  called  to  her: 

"  Come  to  me.  Where  hast  been, 
Salva?  With  simples  to  the  village?  " 

"  No,  my  lady.  I  have  been  with 
Jogund." 

"  Thou  lovest  Jogund,"  said  my  lady 
in  a  low  voice. 


yo      Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"  Yes,  my  lady — poor,  good  Jo- 
gund!" 

"  But  not  me,  wench  !  "  screamed  the 
enraged  Dame.  "  I  would  have  had 
thee  lie  to  me,  and  believed  thee  hadst 
thou  done  so.  I  saw  thee  creep  away 
to  the  churl,  an'  I  asked  hadst  thou 
been  to  the  village,  an'  thou  feared  not 
to  say  nay.  Thou  shalt  love  none  but 
me  !  "  The  Dame  raised  the  great  iron 
key  of  the  garden-door,  and  struck  her 
shrinking  handmaid. 

"  Down,  girl,"  she  cried,  "and  prom 
ise  thou  wilt  no  more  to  Jogund !  " 
And  Salva  sank  on  her  knees  and  thence 
fell  along  the  wall. 

"  The  Lady  of  Wayste  judge  between 
us,"  panted  Dame  Adelgunda. 

Then  men  came  running,  for  in  the 
garden  a  loud  shriek  resounded,  and 
they  found  their  lady  staring  at  the 
shadow  of  the  wall  and  then  at  the 
key  in  her  hand. 

"  She  is  dead,"  muttered  the  Dame, 


The  Legend  of  the  Wayste    71 

distraught.  "  Lady  of  Wayste,  judge 
betwixt  us !  She  is  dead.  'T  is  a  pun 
ishment — a  punishment.  Our  Lady  has 
stricken  most  hard.  She  is  dead!"  and 
so  moaning  she  followed  those  who  bore 
Salva  to  the  hall,  where  the  leech  showed 
a  purple  wound  on  Salva's  temple. 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  the  leech.  "None 
more  so." 

Many  years  the  old  Dame  sat  shrunk 
en  in  her  high  chair  telling  her  beads; 
and  sometimes  in  a  whisper  she  prayed 
the  Lady  of  Wayste,  "  Strike  again  as 
before.  'T  is  time,  dear  Lady ;  't  is 
time." 


The  Singular  Experience   of 
the    Gilstraps 

By   Gertrude  Henderson 

[In  this  exciting  age  of  the  ascendancy  of  Hall 
Caine  and  his  ilk,  the  lives  of  heroes  and  heroines 
are  so  exposed  to  casualties  by  land  and  sea,  to 
murder,  suicide,  hanging,  and  other  interruptions 
more  or  less  uncomfortable,  that  the  sensitive  reader 
of  books  is  kept  in  a  cold  shiver  of  apprehension 
from  cover  even  unto  cover  —  a  condition  evidently 
dangerous  for  a  generation  already  afflicted  with  too 
active  nerves.  And  now  that  story-writers  have 
taken  to  themselves  the  privilege  of  pessimism  and 
the  duty  of  realism,  this  unhappy  reader  is  even 
bereft  of  his  old-time  peaceful  assurance  that  it  will 
all  come  out  right  some  way,  because  the  hero  is 
the  hero,  and  has  to  live  happily  ever  after;  else 
why  should  he  be  the  hero?  Alas!  now  that  ill- 
used  gentleman  has  lost  so  much  of  his  ancient  priv 
ilege  that  his  miseries  commonly  reach  to  the  end 
of  the  last  page,  and  even  his  death  is  not  unprece- 


The  Gilstraps  73 

dented.  In  view  of  these  facts  we  have  decided 
to  spare  our  readers'  nerves  by  killing  our  hero  and 
heroine  in  the  very  beginning.  Thus  wear  and  tear 
on  sympathies  is  entirely  done  away  with.  The 
thoughtful  will  see  at  once  the  practical  advantages 
of  the  plan.] 

"  JV  /I  Y  dear,"  said  the  stout  gentleman 
*  *  *  who  sat  on  the  rower's  seat  and 
plied  his  oars  with  the  mighty  effort 
that  suggests  being  new  at  the  business, 
"my  dear,  I  really  wish  you  would  be 
more  careful  about  staying  in  the  mid 
dle  of  your  seat.  It  is  very  unsafe  to 
have  the  boat  so  ill-balanced,  especially 
when  the  water  is  so  rough.  I  begin 
to  think  we  were  imprudent  to  venture 
out  at  all." 

"Oh,  Milty !  are  you  frightened, 
too?"  gasped  his  equally  stout  wife, 
with  a  sudden  shifting  of  her  substan 
tial  person  that  set  the  boat  to  rocking 
violently.  "Oh,  Milty !  if  I  had  known 
there  would  be  such  waves  I  never 
would  have  consented  to  come,  never. 
6 


74     Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

You  know  I  told  you  we  ought  to  have 
a  boatman." 

As  if  to  bring  proof  of  this  feminine 
wisdom,  the  boat  gave  a  sudden  lurch  to 
the  left,  and  followed  it  by  a  still  more 
violent  one  to  the  right.  At  each  the 
unhappy  woman  shrieked  and  slid  into 
the  temporary  safety  of  the  uppermost 
side. 

"  Maria,"  said  the  pale  but  perspir 
ing  Milty,  plunging  his  oars  deep  into 
the  water,  "  I  am  perfectly  capable  of 
managing  this  boat,  if  you  will  only  be 
sensible  and  sit  still.  But  if  you  will 
fling  yourself  about  in  that  insane  way, 
probably  neither  one  of  us  will  ever 
set  foot  on  shore  again.  Out  in  the 
Pacific  Ocean! — I  never  thought,  Maria, 
—  my  dear,  I  don't  mean  to  be  harsh, 
in  the  very  face  of  death,  as  we  are,  but 
if  you  will  only  sit  still  there  's  no  dan 
ger  at  all,  not  the  least  in  the  world,  I 
assure  you.  You  're  ridiculous  to  sug 
gest  such  a  thing,  Maria. 


The   Gilstraps  75 

The  voice  of  the  brave  Milty  was 
so  tremulous  by  the  time  he  came  to 
the  end  of  this  reassuring  speech  that 
his  weaker  half  was  seized  with  new 
terrors.  She  started  to  wring  her  plump 
hands,  but  relinquished  her  purpose 
half-way  in  favor  of  the  more  practical 
one  of  clutching  desperately  the  sides 
of  the  boat,  and  fixing  upon  her  hus 
band  a  pair  of  eyes  so  round  with  ter 
ror  that  his  last  spark  of  courage  flick 
ered  out.  He  pulled  wildly  upon  one 
oar,  and  then  the  other,  and  then  on 
both  almost  at  once.  At  this  the  boat 
gave  a  sudden  flop,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Well,  my  friends,  I  'm  not  going  to 
stand  this  kind  of  thing  any  longer. 
I  'm  going  to  upset,  and  you  Ve  only 
yourselves  to  blame  for  it."  And  with 
that  it  turned  itself  completely  over, 
shook  itself  free  from  its  occupants, 
and  went  tossing,  bottom  up,  over  the 
waves.  There  were  two  great  splashes, 
two  gurgling  screams,  and  a  long  silence. 


76     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

Presently  there  began  to  rise  out  of 
the  water  a  sort  of  vague  exhalation. 
Slowly  it  took  on  a  certain  shadow  of 
definiteness  of  outline,  and  at  last  it 
uttered  a  sound,  a  faint,  far-off,  agitated 
sound. 

"  Miltiades  Gilstrap ! "  it  said.  "Where 
are  you?" 

A  second  mist  wavered  up  out  of  the 
water,  and  before  it  had  fairly  emerged 
from  its  original  formlessness,  answered 
in  a  tone  of  uncertain,  spectral  joy,  "  Is 
that  you,  Maria  ? " 

"Oh,  Milty!"  said  the  shade  of 
Maria,  stretching  itself  over  toward 
the  second  apparition,  "  I  'm  so  re 
lieved  to  have  you  here  !  What  is  the 
matter?  I  feel  so  peculiar!" 

For  a  moment  the  misty  Miltiades 
made  no  reply.  At  length  he  said, 
"  Do  you  see  that  black  thing  over 
there  on  the  water  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Maria.  "It  looks  like 
our  boat." 


The  Gilstraps  77 

It  was  in  fact  that  faithless  servant, 
still  tossing  itself  pettishly  about  with 
the  waves. 

"It  is,"  said  Miltiades,  "and  it  is 
wrong  side  up.  We  don't  seem  to  be 
in  it,  do  we  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Maria,  "  we  certainly 
are  n't." 

"And  there  is  n't  any  buoy  in  sight," 
continued  Miltiades,  "  nor  any  other 
boat,  and  we  are  n't  near  land,  and  we 
can't  swim."  He  paused  to  give  him 
self  time  to  grasp  the  only  conclusion 
possible. 

"  Maria,"  said  he  solemnly,  "  we 
must  be  drowned." 

"  Miltiades  !  "  ejaculated  Maria. 
"  Miltiades  Gilstrap  !  You  don't  mean 
it !  You  make  my  flesh  creep  ! " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  that  pitiless  rea- 
soner,  "  I  can't  see  any  other  way  to 
account  for  everything.  Besides,  you 
have  n't  any  flesh.  There,  there,  Ma 
ria  !  "  he  added  hastily,  feeling  that  he 


78     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

had  been  perhaps  a  trifle  too  harsh  in 
the  last  sentence.  "  Now,  don't  take  it 
so  hard.  I  dare  say  it  won't  be  so  bad 
when  once  we  get  used  to  it.  Let's  go 
and  sit  down  on  the  boat,  and  talk  it 
over  comfortably.  Do  you  feel  chilled, 
my  dear?  Perhaps  you  had  better 
take  my  arm." 

And  offering  her  what  seemed  to 
correspond  to  that  member  in  his  va 
pory  substance,  he  led  her  to  the  boat, 
and  helped  her  to  a  seat  on  its  up 
turned  bottom. 

"  Milty,  dear,"  said  Maria,  when  she 
was  fairly  settled,  "  I  suppose  you  must 
be  right.  The  boat  certainly  did  turn 
over.  Here  it  is  itself  to  prove  it. 
There  was  n't  anything  else  for  us  to 
do  but  to  go  into  the  water;  and  I 
am  sure  we  never  could  have  gotten 
out  alive.  But  it 's  hard  to  realize." 

"  It 's  too  bad  we  had  n't  learned  to 
swim,"  said  Miltiades.  "  Then  we 
might  have  saved  ourselves.  Still, 


The  Gilstraps  79 

there  would  have  been  the  fright  and 
the  exposure,  and  in  your  state  of 
health  I  should  n't  wonder  if  it  would 
have  been  the  death  of  you,  anyway. 
Perhaps  we  are  better  off  as  we  are/' 

"  There 's  one  thing,  Milty,"  said 
Maria  thoughtfully,  "  I  am  glad  we 
are  n't  leaving  any  children  behind  to 
grieve  for  us.  And  there  won't  be  any 
trouble  about  the  funeral,  either.  I 
am  glad  we  went  together,  are  n't  you  ? 
I  always  hoped  we  could.  It  would 
have  been  so  lonely  for  you  staying 
on  alone  if  I  had  been  taken  first,  not 
having  any  near  relatives  to  keep  you 
company  and  make  things  cheerful  for 
you.  Yes,  it  is  rather  comfortable  to 
know  it 's  all  over  and  settled,  and 
nothing  to  worry  about  any  longer. 
Milty,"  she  said,  struck  with  a  sudden 
thought,  "  that  black  dress  of  mine  will 
be  simply  ruined.  I  told  you  I  ought 
to  have  gone  back  and  put  on  my  old 
one.  And  think  of  your  suit !  " 


8o     Under  the  Berkeley   Oaks 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  that  matters 
now,  Maria,"  said  Milty,  comfortably. 
"  We  shan't  need  them." 

"  That 's  true,"  sighed  Maria,  in  a 
half-regretful  tone.  "  I  had  forgotten. 
I  don't  think  I  ever  had  a  dress  I  liked 
better  than  that,  either." 

"  There  now,  Maria,"  interposed  her 
vapory  spouse  at  this  moment,  touched 
by  the  growing  melancholy  in  her 
tones,  "  I  would  n't  worry  about  a  little 
thing  like  that.  I  don't  begrudge  the 
cost.  You  know  I  never  was  stingy 
about  what  you  had  to  wear.  My 
dear,"  he  continued,  casting  about  in 
his  thoughts  for  something  wherewith 
to  divert  her  mind  from  its  depressing 
chain  of  reflections,  "  you  Ve  often 
thought  of  ghosts,  have  n't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Maria.  "Oh,  Milty! 
do  you  suppose  we  are  ghosts  ?  I 
never  thought  I  should  come  to  that." 

"  I  should  n't  wonder,"  said  Milty, 
with  determined  cheerfulness.  "  And 


The  Gilstraps  81 

why  should  n't  we  have  a  little  enjoy 
ment  out  of  it  ?  We  can't  stay  here. 
It's  getting  on  toward  night,  and  the 
boat  is  certainly  damp.  Suppose  we 
go  ashore,  and  then  take  a  little  jour 
ney  somewhere." 

"  But  how  can  we  get  there  ?  "  said 
the  practical  Maria,  surveying  the  ex 
panse  of  darkening  water  with  an 
anxious  eye. 

"  We  've  lost  the  oars,  and  even  if 
we  could  get  ashore  your  money  is  all 
in  your  pocket,  where  you  can't  possi 
bly  get  at  it ;  and  how  are  we  to  pay 
for  railroad  tickets,  or  even  hire  a  car 
riage  ?  You  know  you  never  did  like 
going  into  debt." 

"  But  I  never  heard  of  ghosts  that 
traveled  by  rail  or  by  carriage  either," 
said  Milty.  "  Don't  you  remember, 
they  glide.  That 's  what  we  must 
do.'"  ' 

"Why,  Milty,"  said  Maria,  "I  never 
did  such  a  thing  in  my  life.  I  'm  sure 


82     Under  the  Berkeley   Oaks 

I  should  n't  have  the  first  notion  how 
to  do  it." 

"  Neither  did  I,  in  my  life,"  answered 
Milty;  "but  then,  we  never  were  ghosts 
before.  It 's  very  different,  you  know. 
Perhaps  it  would  come  quite  natural, 
with  a  little  practice.  I  suppose  we 
would  n't  go  very  fast  just  at  first,  but 
I  Ve  no  doubt  we  'd  soon  get  the  way 
of  it.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  try  it? 
We  could  stay  near  the  boat  for  a  while, 
so  as  to  come  back  and  rest  whenever 
we  felt  tired." 

"Well,"  said  Maria,  her  sensible 
mind  seeing  at  once  the  practical  force 
of  her  husband's  reasoning,  "if  we're 
to  be  ghosts,  of  course  we  '11  have  to 
learn  to  glide,  and  we  might  as  well  do 
it  now  as  any  time.  Come  on,  Milty. 
Let 's  begin.  Give  me  your  arm,  please. 
It  wouldn't  do  for  us  to  get  separated. 
And  don't  try  to  go  too  fast.  Remem 
ber,  I  never  was  very  quick  on  my 
feet." 


The  Gilstraps  83 

"  Now  that  's  sensible  of  you,  Maria," 
said  Miltiades,  affectionately  intermin 
gling  his  misty  arm  with  that  of  his  wife. 
And  the  worthy  pair  floated  hazily  up 
from  the  boat  and  drifted  across  the 
water,  too  intent  upon  the  novelty  of 
the  motion  to  waste  thought  in  talking 
for  several  moments. 

"  Really,  I  would  n't  have  thought  it 
would  be  so  easy,"  said  Maria,  at  last. 
"It's  very  much  pleasanter  than  walk 
ing, —  a  little  dizzying  just  at  first  per 
haps,  but  one  gets  over  that." 

"And  do  you  notice  how  rapid  it 
is?  "  asked  Miltiades,  in  tones  of  much 
placid  satisfaction.  "  We  've  gone  quite 
a  distance  already,  and  I  have  n't  felt 
any  effect.  Would  you  like  to  go  back 
and  rest  now,  my  dear?" 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better,"  said  Maria, 
turning  to  look  across  the  water  at  the 
boat  that  now  floated  quite  calmly,  hav 
ing  worn  off  its  fit  of  petulance,  and  set 
itself,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  to  the  sober 


84     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

contemplation  of  its  misdeeds.  "Still, 
I  don't  know,"  she  continued,  turning 
her  shadowy  eyes  meditatively  toward 
the  distant  beach.  "  The  boat  is  n't  so 
very  much  nearer  than  the  shore.  I 
don't  know  but  we  might  as  well  keep 
right  on,  and  rest  when  we  get  there. 
I  'm  really  enjoying  this.  That  is,  un 
less  you  feel  tired,  Milty." 

"Oh,  no;  not  in  the  least,"  he  re 
plied.  "  It  is  just  as  you  say,  my  dear. 
Only  don't  be  too  ambitious  all  at  once 
and  overtax  yourself." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Maria,  as  they  fell 
once  more  into  an  easy  glide,  "  I  believe 
a  little  exercise  like  this  every  day  would 
do  us  both  good.  It  is  very  different 
from  walking.  That  is  so  fatiguing, 
when  a  person  is  as  stout  as  I  am." 

"  You  do  it  beautifully,  Maria,"  said 
Milty,  making  a  vague  attempt  to  pat 
her  unsubstantial  arm.  "  Beautifully ! 
I  never  saw  a  person  take  to  a  thing 
better.  Of  course,  I  am  not  very  famil- 


The  Gilstraps  85 

iar  with  the  proper  way  of  doing  these 
things,  so  I  can't  be  sure  we  have  it  just 
right;  but  you  do  look  very  graceful." 

"  Oh,  do  I,  really,  Milty? "  said  Ma 
ria,  the  specter  of  a  blush  mantling  her 
ghostly  cheek.  "  I  used  to  be  good  at 
getting  new  dance-steps  when  I  was  a 
girl  and  had  n't  so  much  flesh,  but  I 
supposed  I  had  lost  the  knack.  It  is 
so  long  since  I  've  practiced.  Not  that 
this  is  anything  like  dancing,  however. 
I  am  sure  nobody  could  call  this  light- 
minded.  I  was  just  thinking  how  well 
you  go — quite  as  if  you  had  glided  all 
your  life." 

"  I  am  surprised  to  see  what  good 
time  we  make,"  said  Milty.  "We've 
almost  reached  the  shore  already,  and  I 
am  not  at  all  tired." 

"Neither  am  I,"  said  Maria.  "I 
never  felt  fresher  in  my  life.  Suppose 
we  don't  stop  at  all.  Now  that  we  are 
going  so  well,  it  would  be  a  pity  to  in 
terrupt  it." 


86      Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"  No,  no,  Maria;  we  had  better  stop 
for  a  few  moments,  at  least,"  said  the 
more  prudent  Milty.  "  You  always 
were  too  impetuous.  There  is  n't  the 
least  hurry.  We  've  plenty  of  time  be 
fore  us,  and  you  may  feel  it  to-morrow, 
you  know,  even  if  you  don't  to-day." 

So  saying,  Miltiades  led  the  way  to 
a  crumbling  piece  of  drift-wood  on  the 
shore,  the  fragment  of  some  forgotten 
wreck,  and  the  two  settled  airily  down 
upon  it,  side  by  side. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  asked  Maria. 
"Well,"  said  Miltiades,  "I  was  just 
thinking  about  that.  Suppose  we  go 
to  see  Rossou.  He  is  that  old  school 
mate  of  mine  you  have  heard  me  speak 
of.  It  would  n't  be  far  to  go,  and  I 
would  enjoy  a  sight  of  him.  I  have  n't 
seen  him  for  years." 

"That  is  a  good  idea,"  said  Maria. 
"  Let 's  start  right  off  and  get  there 
before  dinner." 

At  the   head   of  a  table   that  shone 


The  Gilstraps  87 

resplendent  with  Christmas  silver  and 
glass,  and  sent  up  savory  promises  of 
Christmas  good  cheer  to  the  nostrils 
of  the  waiting  company,  sat  Thomas 
Rossou,  grizzled  of  hair,  rubicund  of 
face,  and  pretty  of  figure,  with  a  Christ 
mas  turkey  of  phenomenal  plumpness 
sizzling  before  him,  a  knife  gleaming 
in  his  hand,  and  expectation  shining  in 
his  cheerful  countenance.  With  the 
deftness  of  a  practical  epicure  he  made 
the  assault  upon  the  crisp  brownness 
under  his  hand,  and  "William,"  he 
said,  "do  you  remember  Miltiades  Gil- 
strap,  that  used  to  go  to  school  with 
us?" 

"But  Milty,"  whispered  Maria  to 
her  husband,  just  outside  the  window, 
"  I  don't  feel  right  about  going  in  this 
way,  without  knocking,  or  ringing  or 
anything.  I  'm  sure  it  is  n't  polite.  And 
in  the  window,  too?  It  is  n't  so  bad 
for  you,  an  old  friend ;  but  I  never 
met  the  Rossous,  you  know.  I  don't 


88      Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

know  what  they  '11  think  of  me.     And 
I  never  can  get  through  that  crack." 

"  Miltiades  Gilstrap?"  said  William, 
an  elderly,  smooth-shaven  gentleman, 
whose  florid  good  nature  shone  through 
the  steam  of  the  gravy  at  his  host's  right 
hand.  "  Miltiades  Gilstrap  ?  Let  me 


see." 


"Yes,  you  can,  too,  Maria,"  said 
Miltiades,  outside.  Miltiades  had  taken 
the  wise  precaution  while  yet  in  life  to 
make  himself  well  informed  as  to  ghosts, 
by  way  of  a  highly  seasoned  course  of 
literature  on  the  subject ;  and  this  juve 
nile  forethought  now  stood  him  in  good 
stead.  "Ghosts  can  go  through  any 
thing.  It 's  like  smoke,  you  know.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  stretch  yourself 
out  thin  enough.  And  it 's  perfectly 
proper,  I  assure  you.  I  never  heard 
of  their  ringing/' 

"Well,"  said  Maria,  "if  you  say  so, 
I  suppose  it's  all  right."  And,  like 
an  obedient  wife,  albeit  with  some  mis- 


The  Gilstraps  89 

givings,  she  put  out  an  airy  hand  to  try 
the  passage ;  and  rinding  no  resistance, 
followed  it  with  the  rest  of  her  impon 
derable  body. 

"Well,  Tom!"  said  Miltiades,  with 
effusive  warmth,  as  he  drew  himself 
together  after  this  attenuating  entrance. 
"  Surprised  to  see  me,  are  n't  you  ?  And 
isn't  this  Will  Keepover?  What  a 
piece  of  luck  to  find  you  here  !  I  'd 
have  known  you  anywhere,  Will.  Do 
you  think  I  am  changed  much  ?  I  tell 
you  it  does  me  good  to  see  you  both. 
It  brings  back  the  old  days."  And 
the  soft-hearted  specter  rubbed  his  hands 
together  with  a  joy  in  no  wise  lessened 
by  their  unsubstantiality.  "  My  wife  and 
I —  Let  me  make  you  acquainted  with 
my  wife,  Mr.  Rossou;  and  Mr.  Keep- 
over,  Maria,  my  dear.  We  were  in  the 
country,  and  thought  we  would  come 
in  upon  you  in  this  unexpected  way  and 
wish  you  a  c  Merry  Christmas/  Hope 
you  '11  excuse  the  informality,  but  the 
7 


90      Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

circumstances,  you  see,  were  peculiar. 
We  had  the  misfortune  to  meet  with 
a  little  accident  a  while  ago,  and  in 
fact—  " 

"Milt  Gilstrap?  Why,  of  course," 
said  William,  in  serene  oblivion  of  the 
presence  of  the  gentleman  himself.  "Of 
course,  I  remember  him.  A  chubby- 
faced  youngster  he  was,  and  always 
having  mishaps.  He  never  knew  the 
time  when  he  did  n't  have  a  finger  half 
off,  or  a  tooth  knocked  out,  or  some 
thing  of  the  sort.  Do  you  recollect?" 

"They  couldn't  have  heard  you," 
whispered  Maria.  "How  very  extraor 
dinary  !  You  had  better  speak  again." 

The  shade  of  Miltiades  floated  over 
nearer  to  the  very  tangible  person  of 
Mr.  Rossou,  and  waited  politely  for 
Mr.  Keepover  to  finish  his  remark. 

"Is  that  the  Will  Keepover  you  had 
the  fight  with  when  you  were  a  boy," 
asked  Maria,  in  an  undertone,  "and 
whipped  so  ? " 


The  Gilstraps  91 

"Yes,"  answered  Miltiades;  "and  he 
was  twice  my  size  then." 

"That  day,"  continued  Mr.  Keep- 
over,  "  when  he  and  I  had  a  fight,  he 
was  a  good  two  inches  taller  than  I,  but 
I  was  a  better  fighter.  I  tell  you  he 
had  enough  of  it."  Mr.  Keepover 
smiled  at  the  memory  of  those  mighty 
blows. 

"  Why,  Will !  "  burst  from  the  as 
tonished  lips  of  the  shade  of  Miltiades. 
"  You  never  had  such  a  beating  in 
your  life.  You  know  I —  Excuse 
me,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  host. 
"  Good -evening  and  (  Merry  Christ 
mas,'  Tom.  I  know  you  have  a  wel 
come  for  an  old  friend,  even  if  he  does 
come  rather  unceremoniously.  My 
wife  here,  and  I — " 

"  Milt  was  a  good-natured  boy,"  said 
Mr.  Rossou,  "  but  he  never  did  have 
much  pluck.  I  wonder  where  he  is  now." 

Maria  laid  a  sympathetic  hand  upon 
her  husband's  arm. 


92     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"  Maria ! "  groaned  that  unhappy 
gentleman,  "  Oh,  Maria,  we  're  dead, 
my  dear  !  I  had  n't  realized  it.  Let 's 
get  away.  I  —  I  feel  very  ill !  "  And, 
in  melancholy  silence,  they  floated  out 
through  the  crack. 

"  Good -evening,"  said  a  gusty  voice, 
and  a  shape  settled  down  from  the  up 
per  air  and  wavered  indistinctly  before 
them.  "  Can  you  tell  me —  Why, 
what 's  the  matter  ?  You  look  rather 
blue.  Are  you  new  ones  ?  " 

"  New  what  ?  "   said  Miltiades. 

"  Ghosts,"  said  the  new-comer. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Miltiades, 
heaving  a  sigh  that  took  shape  in  the 
frosty  air  as  tangible  as  his  own.  "Are 
you  one?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  new-comer; 
"  I  Ve  been  one  this  half-century.  May 
I  ask  when  you  died,  if  it 's  no  intru 
sion  ? " 

"  Only  this  evening,"  said  Miltiades. 
"  We  were  out  on  the  water — " 


The   Gilstraps  93 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  said  the  stranger 
sympathetically.  "  Many  of  our  peo 
ple  come  in  that  way.  I  suppose,"  he 
continued,  returning  to  his  original 
tone  of  brisk  cheerfulness,  "  it  is  too 
early  to  inquire  how  you  are  enjoying 
it.  Been  doing  any  haunting?" 

Maria  and  Miltiades  exchanged 
glances. 

"Well,  no,"  said  Miltiades;  "not 
exactly." 

"  Oh,  you  ought  to  haunt,"  said  the 
stranger.  "  I'm  sure  you  would  find 
great  pleasure  in  it."  And  he  turned 
with  an  air  of  courtly  deference  to  Ma 
ria,  who  was  looking  somewhat  shocked 
at  the  proposition. 

"  But  —  is  it — do  they  consider  it 
quite  right  ?  "  she  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Miltiades,  "isn't  that 
kind  of  thing  confined  to  murdered 
men,  and  suicides,  and  people  one 
would  n't  just  like  to  be  classed  with  ?  " 

"  Oh,    you  're     entirely    mistaken," 


94     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

said  the  stranger.  "  Why,"  with  a  wide 
sweep  of  his  hazy  arm,  "  I  'm  just  off 
on  a  little  business  of  that  kind  myself 
now.  Our  very  best  people  do  it.  I 
assure  you,  you  won't  be  thought  any 
thing  of  in  society  if  you  don't  haunt. 
There  's  Colonel  Ashmore's  wife,  one  of 
the  most  charming  women  that  ever  died 
in  this  country;  she  does  a  great  deal 
of  it.  She  keeps  a  regular  visiting-list 
of  her  places.  And  her  great-grand 
daughter,  Mrs.  Levison,  goes  about 
with  her  a  great  deal.  But,  of  course, 
she  is  older,  and  does  n't  care  to  be  out 
quite  so  much.  You  need  n't  feel  any 
hesitancy  about  it  at  all,  my  dear 
madam,"  (and  again  he  addressed  him 
self  with  charming  grace  to  Maria) ; 
"  and  I  urge  you  to  do  it,  for  your  own 
enjoyment." 

The  minds  of  Maria  and  Miltiades 
were  too  full  of  novel  ideas  for  ready 
speech.  Before  either  of  them  could 
make  answer  the  stranger  continued  : 


The  Gilstraps  95 

"  I  must  really  bid  you  ' good-evening.' 
I  can't  bear  to  be  late  for  my  appoint 
ments.  It 's  a  house-party,  and  they  '11 
be  looking  for  me.  I  hope  to  see 
more  of  you  in  future.  Good-evening." 

"  Good-evening,"  said  Miltiades  and 
Maria,  and  the  voluble  gentleman 
melted  away,  humming  a  popular  ditty 
of  fifty  years  ago. 

"Well,  Maria?"  said  Miltiades,  a 
faint  cheerfulness  struggling  back  into 
his  voice. 

"  I'll  do  just  as  you  say,  Milty,"  an 
swered  Maria.  "  I  'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  to  think." 

"  I  certainly  have  read  of  it  in  the 
most  aristocratic  families,"  said  Milti 
ades.  "  Don't  you  know  how  common 
it  is  in  the  English  nobility  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said   Maria ;    "  that  is  true." 

"  Let 's  try  it,"  said  Miltiades  tenta 
tively. 

"Well,  if  you  think  best.  But 
where?"  quavered  Maria. 


96     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

Milty's  eyes  traveled  up  the  street 
and  down  the  street,  and  rested  on  a 
brightly  lighted  house  not  far  away. 

"  That  "  looks  cheerful,"  said  he. 
"  Let's  go  there." 

With  the  words,  they  started  off  in 
true  ghostly  fashion,  glided  to  the  near 
est  window,  drifted  through  a  friendly 
chink,  and  settled  down  side  by  side 
upon  a  sofa  to  plan  the  details  of  their 
unaccustomed  enterprise. 

The  room  was  gay  with  red-berried 
branches,  after  the  cheerful  fashion  of 
the  Christmas-tide,  but  only  the  flicker 
ing  fire-glow  lighted  it. 

"Just  the  place,  isn't  it?"  said  Mil- 
tiades,  looking  about  with  approval. 

"Yes,"  said  Maria,  with  a  dubious 
inflection,  looking  at  the  room's  one 


Miltiades  glanced  quickly  around  at 
his  wife.  "  You  mean  there  ought  to 
be  more  people  here:  "  he  said.  "  Oh, 
no,  no!  Not  at  all.  I  know  they 
always  take  them  one  at  a  time." 


The   Gilstraps  97 

"  But,    Miltiades,"    objected    Maria, 
"she  l(X>ks  so  young  and  so  sens 
Of  course,  we  would  n't  hurt   her  for 
anything.      But  suppose  she  should  be 
frightened :" 

"  Now,  Maria,"  said  Miltiades  severe 
ly,  "you  11  have  to  get  over  that  notion. 
Why,  what 's  haunting  for:  Of  course, 
she  '11  be  frightened. ' 

"  But  what  if  it  should  throw  her  into 
hysterics?  It  might  make  her  sick," 
persisted  Maria, 

"I  don't  believe  she's  that  kind," 
said  Miltiades.  "She's  pretty,  isn't 
she?"  he  added,  his  eyes  lingering  with 
evident  admiration  upon  the  girl,  who 
sat  motionless  and  gazed  absently  at  the 
fire. 

"  Very,"  said  Maria.  "What  a  pretty 
bright  brown  her  hair  is!  See  how  it 
catches  the  firelight  and  shines  here  and 
there/' 

"  I  wonder  what  she  is  thinking  of," 
said  Miltv.  "What  eves  she  has 


98     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

always  liked  that  expressive  kind  of 
brown." 

"She  does  n't  seem  to  have  noticed 
us,"  said  Maria.  "Had  we  better  be- 
gin?" 

"Yes,"  said  Milty.  "What  had  we 
better  do  first?" 

"  Could  n't  we  just  wish  her  a  ( Merry 
Christmas,'  and  not  startle  her  too  much 
all  at  once?"  suggested  Maria. 

"Maria,"  said  Miltiades,  "if  we  are 
going  to  do  this  thing  at  all,  we  ought 
to  do  it  well;  and  whoever  heard  of 
that  sort  of  remark  for  a  ghost?  No; 
we  must  clank  our  chains.  They  always 
do." 

"Well,  but  we  haven't  any,"  said 
Maria.  "At  least  I  am  sure  I  have  n't; 
and  if  you  have  I  don't  know  where 
you  got  them." 

This  was  a  grave  difficulty. 

"We  certainly  ought  to  have  some," 
said  Milty.  "  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
do  anything  at  all  without." 


The  Gilstraps  99 

"  Don't  they  sometimes  rap  on 
tables?"  suggested  Maria,  doing  her 
best  to  call  up  some  scraps  of  super 
natural  information. 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Milty. 
"  Yes ;  we  can  do  that.  We  '11  rap,  and 
then  we  '11  both  groan  at  once,  and  then 
we  '11  say —  What  do  they  say,  Maria  ? 
— c  Vengeance ! '  or  f  The  hour  is  come ! ' 
or  'Beware!'  or  something  short  and 
blood-curdling  like  that?" 

"  Miltiades,"  said  Maria,  her  tender 
heart  smiting  her  past  endurance,  "  I 
won't  do  it.  I  can't." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened. 
"  Ellen,"  said  a  voice,  and  the  dreamer 
by  the  fireside  looked  quickly  up. 
"  Ellen,  they  want  you.  They  sent  me 
to  find  you.  Ellen,"  and  the  voice  also 
was  by  the  fireside,  "why  did  you  go 
away? " 

"  Milty,"  whispered  Maria,  "  that 
young  man  is  in  love  with  Ellen.  I 
can  tell  by  the  way  he  looks  at  her." 


ioo  Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

"  It  did  n't  make  any  difference/'  said 
Ellen.  "  There  were  so  many.  I  was 
tired  of  games." 

"  But  it  made  a  difference  to  me/' 
said  the  voice.  "What  have  you  been 
thinking  of  here  by  yourself?  Will 
you  tell  me? " 

"  Oh — of  a  great  many  things/'  said 
Ellen. 

"And  of  one  thing?"  asked  the 
voice.  It  was  a  very  low  voice  now. 
"  Of  what  I  told  you  ?  Have  you 
been  remembering  that?"  it  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Ellen. 

"Miltiades,"  whispered  Maria,  "I  do 
believe  that  young  man  's  proposing  to 
Ellen.  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  stay. 
Just  think  how  you  would  feel  yourself 
to  have  complete  strangers  come  in  at 
such  a  time." 

"And  will  you  tell  me  now  what  I 
asked  you?"  said  the  voice. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Ellen. 

"But  will  you  soon  ? "  said  the  voice, 
after  a  little  pause. 


The  Gilstraps  101 


There  was  another  little  xiaus^,  and 
then:  "Perhaps  so,"  said  Ellen.  .... 

"And  do  you  think*  it  wiM  be  what  I 
want  to  hear?"  asked  the  voice,  as  if  it 
were  no  more  than  a  thought  that  had 
some  way  made  itself  audible. 

"I  think  —  perhaps  —  it  may,"  said 
Ellen. 

"  Here  is  a  sprig  of  misletoe  on  the 
floor,"  said  the  voice  —  a  very  glad, 
clear  voice.  "  See  what  a  pretty  piece 
it  is  !  Its  berries  glisten  so  !  Would 
you  mind  if  I  should  put  it  in  your 
hair?  And  then  if  I  should  take  its 
privilege?  Would  you,  Ellen?" 

"Maria,"  said  Milty,  while  his  arm 
flowed  vaguely  around  her  unresisting 
form,  "  Maria  dear,  do  you  remem 
ber  —  ?"  And,  forgetting  their  pur 
pose,  the  two  faded  out  of  the  window 
and  away  into  the  moonlit  night. 

And  "No,"  said  Ellen. 


The  Confraternity  of  the 
Holy  Agony 

By  Harley  M.  Leete 

ON  North  Hall  steps  the  Sopho 
mores  were  roaring  out  their 
old-time  war-song  to  the  ominous  ac 
companiment  of  clattering  canes  and 
significant  wagging  of  their  mortarboard 
head-gear.  Groups  of  Freshmen  were 
scurrying  across  the  campus,  in  threes 
and  fours,  to  some  rendezvous  in  the 
park  beyond.  "  Rush  "  was  in  the  air. 
To-night  the  University  of  California 
would  witness  the  annual  struggle  be 
tween  Sophomore  and  Freshman. 

Up  the  campus,  wending  their  way 
through  this  confusion,  side  by  side, 
came  two  young  friends,  a  boy  and 


The   Confraternity  103 

a  girl.  He  was  tall  and  heavy,  yet 
with  the  grace  of  strength  in  his  step, 
and  a  delicacy  of  feature  unusual  to  a 
man  of  his  stature.  His  eyes  were 
dark,  and  there  burned  in  them  that 
pure  fire  which  we  may  imagine  lighted 
the  eyes  of  Sir  Launfal  as  he  sallied 
out  his  dream -castle  gate.  At  least, 
that  was  the  mental  comparison  of  his 
companion,  a  fair,  sprightly  girl  with  a 
treasure  of  brown  hair  and  merry  gray 
eyes.  Gray  eyes  are  so  often  serious. 
She  glanced  up  at  him  now,  as  he  kept 
the  hurrying  Freshmen  from  jostling 
her,  and  a  little  shadow  rested  in  their 
depths. 

"  Mr.  Hope,"  she  said,  "  I  expect 
you  to  do  something  to  distinguish 
yourself  from  the  mass  of  men  I  know 
at  college." 

"  Why?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

"  Because,"  she  replied  irrelevantly, 
with  a  shade  more  color  than  the  set 
ting  sun  would  warrant. 


104    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"  Seems  to  me  you  exercise  your 
prerogative  rather  emphatically,  Miss 
Burton." 

"  Yes  ?  Well,  since  I  Ve  done  so, 
there 's  no  appeal.  The  question  is, 
Will  you  do  it  ?  " 

He  thought  a  long  time.  She  was  a 
Senior,  and  belonged  to  the  Amateur 
Artists'  Club.  She  knew  hosts  of  men 
on  the  top  round  of  their  life-work, 
and  he — well,  he  sighed — he  was  only 
a  Freshman. 

"You  have  a  lifetime  to  do  it  in," 
she  suggested  at  this  critical  moment. 

He  started.  She  had  a  little  way  of 
thinking  along  parallel  with  him  that 
often  surprised  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  asked,  after  another 
pause. 

At  that  moment  the  Sophomores, 
ending  their  song  with  a  wild  crescendo 
whoop,  came  pell-mell  down  the  steps, 
and,  forming  fours,  executed  a  serpen 
tine  march  down  the  path  leading  to 


The   Confraternity  105 

Jack  Maguire's  billiard- hall.  Then 
suddenly  vague  chaotic  impulses,  soul- 
protestations,  were  crystallized  into  a 
hard,  unflinching  purpose.  His  eyes 
flashed  as  he  almost  shouted,  "I  will !" 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Hope.  And  may 
—  may  I  be  your  friend?"  she  asked 
half-fearful  of  that  flash,  and  with  some 
misgivings  as  well. 

"  What  might  a  man  of  his  tempera 
ment  and  strength  of  will  accomplish!" 
she  thought;  and  she  of  the  very  ex 
clusive  "Amateurs"  was  conscious  of 
just  a  little  presumption. 

"  Why,"  he  stammered,  "  if  you  only 
would.  I  don't  seem  to  make  friends 
here.  I — ,"  and  then  his  throat  stuck 
and  Miss  Burton  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  That 's  good  of  you  to  put  it  that 
way,  and  I  'm  very  grateful."  Then 
she  took  a  thin  gold  bangle  from  her 
wrist,  and  went  on  a  trifle  nervously, 
"And  this  I  '11  give  you  as  a  token  to 
wear  on  your  imaginary  helmet.  But 
8 


io6    Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

stop — I  haven't  knighted  you  yet," 
and  laying  a  book  playfully  across  his 
shoulder,  she  exclaimed,  "Arise !  Sir 
James  Hope  henceforth."  Then  she 
bade  him  good-by  and  left  him  stand 
ing  by  the  library-steps  looking  fool 
ishly  at  the  little  gold  bangle  laying  in 
his  great  palm. 

Descended  from  a  long  line  of  Cath 
olic  Hopes,  who  traced  their  ancestry 
two  hundred  years  back  of  the  time 
when  the  first  Hope  had  come  to 
America  with  Lord  Baltimore,  James 
was  of  a  deeply  religious  nature.  De 
spite  the  influences  widely  at  variance 
with  their  religious  forms,  the  Hopes 
still  maintained,  as  sacredly  as  an  heir 
loom,  their  Catholicism  intact,  though 
it  was  but  the  husk.  The  doctrine  of 
universal  brotherhood  they  believed  fun 
damental  to  all  true  Christianity,  and 
this  formed  the  living,  throbbing  pulse 
of  their  religion.  Naturally  James  be 
lieved  that  a  man's  first  fraternity-pin 


The  Confraternity  107 

should  be  that  of  his  university.  What 
he  believed  he  gave  expression  to,  both 
in  action  and  speech.  Hence,  heralded 
as  one  of  the  finest  half-backs  who  had 
ever  entered  college,  applauded  for  his 
brilliant  plays,  he  soon  found  himself 
with  but  few  or  no  close  friends,  and  all 
because  he  took  life  too  seriously  and 
had  neither  the  tact  nor  geniality  to  win 
friends. 

On  the  night  of  the  rush  he  prayed 
long  and  fervently  before  his  crucifix, 
till  his  resolve  glowed  to  a  white  heat 
and  shone  from  his  face.  At  the  foot 
of  the  cross  was  a  little  sandal-wood 
box,  upon  which,  in  raised  silver  letters, 
was  an  inscription  reading, "The  Confra 
ternity  of  the  Holy  Agony."  Into  this 
box  James  dropped  a  piece  of  silver,  as 
his  fathers  before  him  for  many  genera 
tions  had  done  at  the  end  of  their 
prayers.  At  New  Year's  the  money  from 
these  deposits  was  gathered  up  and  sent 
to  some  institution  for  unfortunates. 


io8   Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

The  rush  was  over.  At  Jack  Ma- 
guire's  billiard-hall,  waiters  were  run 
ning  hither  and  thither  in  a  mad 
endeavor  to  quench  the  huge  thirst  of 
the  victors.  Jack  Maguire,  notorious 
law-breaker  and  boss  of  town  politics 
(and  college  politics,  it  was  whispered), 
was  everywhere  congratulating  the  trium 
phant  Sophomores.  The  winning  side 
always  had  his  sympathy,  for  win  who 
would,  he  won  from  the  winners,  and 
sent  many  a  one  home  on  unsteady  feet. 
All  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  a 
State  law  prohibited  the  sale  of  liquors 
within  a  radius  of  a  mile  about  the  Uni 
versity  grounds.  But,  winked  at  by 
local  authorities,  Maguire  had  built  a 
splendid  billiard-hall  just  outside  the 
grounds.  Years  of  practice  had  em 
boldened  him,  until  now  he  sold  liquor 
in  flagrant,  open  violation  of  all  law. 
Nobody  complained,  because  it  was 
nobody's  business. 

On    this    evening    the    crowd    little 


The   Confraternity  109 

resembled  students  in  appearance.  Old 
clothes,  slouch  hats,  a  glint  of  military 
buttons  here  and  there,  faces  in  which 
the  recent  conflict  had  accentuated  the 
brutal  lines  and  dissolved  the  finer  ones, 
bandaged  arms  and  heads,  and  trophies 
of  the  rush  flourished  aloft,  character 
ized  the  crowd.  Not  that  this  forty  or 
fifty-odd  students  were  representative 
of  the  entire  student  body.  Far  from 
it.  But  it  was  that  element  which  was 
always  in  evidence  whenever  there  was 
any  hurrahing  to  be  done  or  a  college 
election  to  take  place. 

On  a  table  at  the  head  of  the  room 
stood  Hal  Rickstaad  leading  the  singing 
of  a  coarse  parody  of  one  of  the  college 
songs. 

"Hit  'em  up,  boys!"  he  shouted,  and 
they  responded  with  a  roar:  — 

"  Behold  the  conquering  hero  comes  ! 
He  is  the  very  prince  of  bums ! 
He  doth  whatever  him  doth  please, — 
Oh !   him  doth  please  ! 


no    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

And  leads  a  life  of  luscious  ease, — 
Oh  !  luscious  ease  !  " 

"  The  devil  take  the  man  who  digs, 
He  is  the  very  prince  of  pigs ! 
Cold  water  drinks,  which  iron  doth  rust, — 

Oh  !   iron  doth  rust ! 
And  with  dyspepsia  he  is  cussed, — 

Oh!   he  is  cussed!" 

As  Hal  Rickstaad  lifted  his  mug  for 
another  draught  before  beginning  the 
last  verse,  his  hand  was  arrested  before 
his  mouth,  and  his  eyes  bulged  out  with 
astonishment  and  terror.  All  turned 
and  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes. 
There,  at  the  far  end  of  the  room, 
pressed  against  the  pane,  was  the  white, 
drawn  face  of  James  Hope,  looking  in 
on  the  brute  horror  of  their  debauch. 
Then  the  face  faded  into  the  darkness. 
In  the  room  reeking  with  tobacco  and 
fumes  of  drink,  where  a  moment  be 
fore  all  was  hilarity  and  drunken  socia 
bility,  there  burst  forth  a  wild,  discordant 


The  Confraternity  in 

clamor.  Hal  Rickstaad  dashing  his 
mug  to  pieces  on  the  floor  yelled,  "A 
spotter  !  a  spotter  !  Out  on  the  spy  ! 
Out  on  the  faculty's  whelp!"  and 
springing  from  the  table  he  joined  the 
wild  scramble  for  the  door. 

For  a  few  moments  all  was  still  save 
the  tramping  of  feet,  as  the  mob, 
broken  up  into  small  searching  parties, 
hurried  about  the  campus.  Then  a 
howl  of  triumph  went  up  from  the 
botanical  gardens,  and  with  answering 
halloos  they  all  hurried  thither. 

When  Hope  came  to  himself  he  was 
lying  in  darkness  on  the  banks  of  a 
small  stream  some  two  miles  from  the 
campus.  His  body  was  bruised  and 
bleeding  from  the  cane-beating  he  had 
received.  When  he  essayed  to  rise,  his 
head  pained  him  savagely,  and  the  trees 
wobbled  about  so  strangely,  the  ground 
rushed  up  to  him  so  swiftly,  that  after 
one  or  two  attempts  he  gave  it  up  and 


ii2    Under  the  Berkeley   Oaks 

lay  very  still,  puzzling  his  reluctant 
thoughts  with  the  why  and  the  where 
fore. 

They  came  so  slowly,  his  thoughts, 
and  were  so  unlike,  he  could  scarcely 
make  a  sequence  of  them.  By  much 
piecing  together  he  remembered  hazily 
of  being  taken  in  the  botanical  gardens 
and  being  given  his  choice  of  leaving  col 
lege  or  chastisement  at  the  hands  of  his 
captors.  He  had  chosen  the  latter  and 
fought  manfully  for  a  while,  but  their 
numbers  finally  prevailed,  and  they 
dragged  him  to  this  stream,  and  after 
stripping  and  beating  him  threw  him 
into  a  shallow  pool.  There  they 
splashed  the  water  over  him  by  hurling 
rocks  close  to  him.  Sometimes  their 
aim  was  unsteady  and  they  had  hit 
him.  At  last  one  struck  him  in  the 
head,  and  he  remembered  nothing  until 
now.  Evidently  they  had  dragged  him 
out,  and,  fearing  he  was  dead,  had  run 
away  in  a  panic. 


The   Confraternity  113 

It  began  to  grow  lighter,  and  a  trifle 
encouraged  by  a  growing  coherence  in 
his  thoughts  he  rose  unsteadily  and 
tremblingly  drew  on  his  clothes,  which 
he  found  scattered  along  the  bank. 

Two  weeks  later  Hope  appeared  again 
on  the  gridiron.  His  strong  vitality 
could  yield  but  a  short  time  to  sickness, 
though  he  was  quite  pale  from  confine 
ment  indoors.  The  students  assembled 
on  the  bleachers  looked  on  in  mute 
astonishment,  as  with  a  half- smile  he 
swung  out  with  his  foot  and  raised  the 
ball  in  one  of  his  famous  punts.  Then 
hisses  broke  out. 

He  dropped  the  ball  and  stood  for 
a  moment  facing  the  hostile  eyes  on 
the  bleachers. 

Some  one  called  to  the  coach,  "Put 
the  spotter  out !  " 

With  a  despairing  glance  at  his  fel 
low  players,  Hope  turned  to  leave, 
when  there  came  the  raucous  voice  of 
the  coach  across  the  field : 


ii4  Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

"  Don't  you  mind  them,  Jimmie. 
Damn  them !  for  a  little  spite  they  'd 
lose  the  Thanksgiving  game.  Play  as 
you  have  played,  old  man,  and  I  '11  put 
you  on  the  Varsity,  spite  o'  hell !  " 

They  all  heard  it.  Hope  wavered  a 
moment,  and  then  came  back.  It  was 
not  the  hope  of  playing  on  the  Varsity 
that  turned  him  back.  It  was  the 
words  "  Jimmie  "  and  "  old  man."  He 
could  have  sobbed  out  his  thanks  for 
those.  His  mother  called  him  Jim 
mie.  The  bleachers  were  shamed  into 
silence. 

As  Hope  left  the  field  that  evening 
he  encountered  Hal  Rickstaad  and  Jas- 
amine  Burton  at  the  gate.  Neither  of 
them  bowed  to  him.  Rickstaad  stared 
at  him  contemptuously.  Jasamine 
looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment, 
then  with  a  slight  painful  tightening 
of  her  lips  turned  her  eyes  away. 

Hope  was  stunned.  The  little  gold 
bangle,  her  promise,  meant  nothing. 


The  Confraternity  115 

"Nothing — nothing,"  he  repeated  dully 
to  himself. 

Late  at  night  he  knelt  and  prayed. 
The  click  of  his  beads  answered  the 
tick  of  the  clock,  and  both  struck  into 
the  marrow  of  his  loneliness.  He  knew 
now, —  yes,  he  knew  too  well — what 
the  holy  agony  was.  It  did  not 
mean  the  sorrow  of  the  blind,  the  dis 
eased,  and  the  maimed,  alone.  It 
meant  that  great  universal  sorrow  which 
hangs  over  all,  and  makes  each  one  de 
pendent  on  another  for  sympathy,  for 
food  to  satisfy  the  heart-hunger,  and 
for  the  brotherly  hand  of  friendship 
when  that  sorrow  swoops  down  like  a 
storm-cloud  and  envelops  all  in  melan 
choly.  At  last  the  clink  of  silver  told 
of  prayers  ended,  and  James  fell  asleep. 

The  next  day  Jack  Maguire  was  ar 
rested  for  violation  of  the  State  law.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  a  number  of  stu 
dents  perjured  themselves  to  save  him, 
the  dormant  interest  of  the  good  public 


n6   Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

and  majority  of  the  student  body  was 
aroused,  and  a  rigid  prosecution  secured 
him  a  sentence  of  two  years  in  the  pen 
itentiary. 

Still  they  held  aloof  from  Hope. 
Their  attitude  may  perhaps  be  expressed 
thus:  "  Hope  no  doubt  had  done  per 
fectly  right  according  to  his  lights;  but 
he  had  made  himself  so  awfully  con 
spicuous." 

He  often  saw  Jasamine  Burton  on 
the  campus.  But  he  had  a  feeling  that 
it  must  annoy  her  to  be  obliged  to  cut 
him;  so  he  avoided  her  as  much  as  pos 
sible,  to  save  her  the  pain  of  it. 

Thanksgiving  day  at  last!  Cold  and 
clear  it  dawns.  Hats,  canes,  flags,  and 
ribbons  are  furbished  up  in  the  morn 
ing.  Noon  trains  bring  the  entire  pop 
ulation  of  neighboring  towns  into  San 
Francisco,  and  by  one  o'clock  the  bleach 
ers  are  full.  Friends  of  California  and 
Stanford  are  ranged  on  opposite  sides. 


The  Confraternity  117 

Near  the  middle  section  on  either  side 
are  the  rooters  facing  each  other,  those 
on  California's  side  wearing  blue-and- 
gold  hats  and  those  on  Stanford's  red. 
Fiercely  they  shout  their  slogans  across 
at  one  another.  Taunts  of  past  years' 
defeats,  hurled  in  chorus  across  the  grid 
iron,  meet  scorn  and  wit  as  keen  as  that 
of  the  senders,  and  the  alumni,  with 
happy  faces  and  fluttering  flags,  applaud 
each  witty  sally  of  "  their  boys." 

Now  the  whistle  sounds,  and  the 
blue-and-gold  face  the  red  for  the 
struggle.  Again  the  whistle,  and  they 
are  off.  Now  follows  a  deep  silence  as 
the  audience  breathlessly  watches  the 
outcome  of  the  Stanford  kick-off  and 
California's  return.  Hah!  the  latter's 
advantage!  and  their  rooters  rise  as  one 
man  and  cheer  frantically  for  the  team 
collectively,  and  individually,  too, —  for 
all  but  Hope.  No  word  of  praise  for 
him,  though  his  is  the  punt  that  makes 
the  gain. 


n8   Under  the  Berkeley   Oaks 

The  first  half  is  over,  and  neither 
side  yet  scored.  At  first  the  Cardinals, 
from  their  victory  of  last  year,  have 
the  odds,  but  betting  is  even  now.  At 
the  whistle-call  for  second  half  the  men 
form  and  face  each  other  in  sullen 
silence.  How  evenly  matched  they  are  ! 
How  alike  in  proportions  is  that  left 
tackle  of  California  matched  against  the 
right  tackle  opposite,  or  that  spare,  lithe 
end  against  his  foe  !  Now  California 
plunges  across  the  line  and  catches  the 
enemy's  full-back  before  he  can  return. 
But  see  !  the  half-back  in  falling  loses 
the  ball. 

"Hurrah  !"  shout  the  California  root 
ers. 

"  Damnation  ! "  growl  the  red  hats. 

Fast  following  on  the  seizure  of  the 
ball  comes  the  sharp,  barking  tones  of 
California's  quarter-back  giving  the  sig 
nal  as  they  take  the  offensive  forma 
tion.  The  ball  is  passed  to  Hope  and 
he,  springing  forward,  leaps  clear  of 


The  Confraternity  119 

both  lines  and  plunges  head  first  into 
the  arms  of  Cardinals'  backs. 

"Well  done!  Bravo!"  shout  the 
alumni.  But  no  word  from  the  rooters. 

Now  the  other  half-back  takes  the 
ball  for  the  same  play.  Over  he  goes 
into  the  mass  of  red  shirts.  A  mo 
ment's  pause.  The  Stanford  team 
hustle  the  enemy  at  random  and  the 
half-back  lies  stunned  on  the  ground. 
Then  panic  seizes  the  California  players. 
Who  has  the  ball  ?  A  howl  of  rage  from 
the  bleachers  tells  them.  Turning  they 
see  Stanford's  long,  lank  full-back 
speeding  down  the  field  with  the  ball. 
Closely  following  him  is  James  Hope. 
There  is  a  tense  quiet  on  both  sides 
of  the  gridiron.  Fifteen  yards  more  and 
they  will  have  a  touch-down.  Then 
a  long  deep  sigh  of  relief  from  one  side 
and  a  groan  from  the  other.  Hope 
has  sprung  forward,  and  hurling  him 
self  after  his  fleeing  rival,  has  tackled 
and  thrown  the  flying  man  heavily  on 


120   Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

the  ten-yard  line.  The  ball  rolls  out 
from  the  full-back's  nerveless  arms. 
On  his  feet  in  an  instant,  Hope  catches 
up  the  ball  and  turns  down  the  field. 

Now  ensues  one  of  the  finest  inter 
ference  plays  ever  witnessed  on  the 
gridiron.  As  Hope  runs  down  the 
field,  man  after  man  of  the  Cardinals  is 
baffled,  tripped,  or  blocked  as  he  tries 
to  tackle.  As  he  speeds  by  the  red- 
hatted  section,  scattering  cries  of  "  Kill 
him!  Kill  him!"  are  shouted  down  at 
him.  At  last  he  falls  eighteen  yards 
from  goal,  tackled  by  the  enemy's  left 
end.  Meanwhile  the  coach  looks  on  in 
astonishment.  Never  before  has  he  seen 
such  interference.  A  wild,  inarticulate 
sound  bursts  from  his  throat.  He 
dances  along  the  lines,  and,  with  tears 
streaming  down  his  cheeks,  crazily 
murmurs  to  himself:  "Good  for  you, 
Charlie  !  Nobly  done,  Jack !  Throw 
'em  hard!  That's  the  stuff!  Go  on 
Jimmie,  for  God  and  your  college  !" 


The   Confraternity  121 

Opportunity  comes  knocking  at  the 
door  of  the  California's  yell-leader  — 
opportunity  for  heroship  second  to 
Hope's.  He  looks  at  the  seething  parti 
colored  bank  before  him  where  a  babel 
of  sounds  rises  along  with  hats  and 
canes  whirled  madly  into  the  air  regard 
less  of  their  landing-place  or  final 
recovery.  Shall  he,  or  shall  he  not  ? 
Then  he  catches  the  eye  of  Hal  Rick- 
staad,  his  fraternity  brother,  which  with 
a  menace  says  he  shall  not,  and  he  is 
known  thenceforth  as  Mr.  What's-his- 
name  who  led  the  rooters  in  such-and- 
such  a  year. 

But  the  coach  strides  over  to  the  sec 
tion  with  indignation  blazing  in  his  face. 
Seizing  the  yell-leader's  beribboned  cane 
he  shouts,  "  Up,  there,  every  one  of  you 
that  has  a  spark  of  manhood  in  him! 
Up  and  give  a  man  his  due  !  Now  !" 

And  there  rose   in  unison   the    yell 
that   first  greeted    Hope  when   he  ap 
peared  on  the  campus  gridiron: — 
9 


122     Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

"  Hope  !   Hope  !  Jim  Hope  ! 
Oh  !  Stanford  has  faith 
And  charity  sweet, 
But  we  have  Hope 
They  cannot  beat !  " 

In  that  yell  was  voiced  for  the  man 
the  unqualified  admiration  of  the  long 
silent  but  approving  majority,  and  those 
of  the  minority  in  whom  their  better 
nature  had  triumphed. 

But  Hope  heard  and  smiled  in  a  way 
not  good  to  see.  Brute  courage,  of 
which  all  could  see  the  trial  on  the  grid 
iron,  they  could  applaud ;  but  the  trial 
of  his  soul's  courage  which  had  cost  him 
his  one  friend  in  college  and  his  faith 
in  all  friendship — that  was  passed  by 
in  silent  contempt  and  misunderstand 
ing. 

The  game  finished  with  a  score  of 
six  to  nothing  in  favor  of  California. 
While  the  hubbub  of  band -playing, 
cursing  and  rejoicing,  weeping  and 
laughing  filled  the  late  hard-fought 


The  Confraternity  123 

field,  with  the  successful  team  riding 
the  uncertain  shoulders  of  the  rooters 
at  the  head  of  a  rude  procession,  Hope 
slipped  off  the  backs  of  his  new  and 
ardent  friends  and  made  the  best  of  his 
way  to  the  carriage-stand. 

People  nudged  one  another  as  he 
passed,  and  said  in  undertones,  "That 's 
Hope."  Small  boys  sneaked  up  behind 
to  touch  his  rough  suit  and  boast  of  it 
next  day.  Alumni  proudly  pointed  at 
him  and  said  to  visiting  strangers, 
"  That 's  he  ;  that 's  our  Jim." 

But  he  went  on  alone,  seeing  nor 
hearing  no  one.  What  were  his  honors 
compared  to  the  wrong  one  had  done 
him?  "A  mere  slip  of  a  girl,"  he 
thought,  trying  to  contemn  himself  for 
feeling  so  wretchedly  about  it.  But  — 
oh,  well  —  she  promised  to  be  his  friend 
and  —  and  failed  him  in  the  first  storm. 
She  would  probably  come  around  to 
congratulate  him  now.  If  she  should  — 
and  he  ground  his  teeth. 


124    Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

Suddenly  he  became  conscious  that 
somewhere  near  him  in  the  throng  was 
that  same  "  mere  slip  of  a  girl."  It 
may  have  been  some  low  note  of  her 
voice  battling  unconsciously  through  the 
noisy  herd  of  sounds  that  apprised  him 
of  her  presence,  or,  perhaps,  in  looking 
for  a  carriage,  his  eye  had  caught  the 
glint  of  her  brown  hair  and  lost  it 
again.  However  it  was,  he  knew  that 
she  was  near  him.  But  then  —  and  he 
stifled  the  pain  gnawing  at  his  heart  — 
what  did  it  matter  ?  Jasamine  no  longer 
recognized  him.  At  that  moment  he 
saw  her  with  her  mother  standing  by 
their  carriage  at  the  curb.  She  bowed. 
He  raised  his  cap  coldly  and  was  pass 
ing  on,  when  she  pushed  toward  him. 
Then  he  stopped. 

"Mr.  Hope,  I  want —  Oh,  don't 
look  at  me  in  that  way  !  I  can't  bear 
it!  I  —  mamma  and  I  want  to  take 
you  up  town  in  our  carriage." 

"  I    thank    you,    but    I    have    made 


The  Confraternity  125 

other  arrangements,"  he  said  with  grave 
bitterness. 

"  Oh,  break  them  this  once,  won't 
you?  I  know  I  Ve  failed  in  my  promise, 
but  Hal  Rickstaad  and  others  told  me 
a  story  I  could  n't  but  believe.  And — 
and  please  forgive  me,  won't  you  ? 
I  — "  And  she  gave  a  half-fearful 
glance  at  the  crowd  that  flowed  by  on 
either  side  of  James's  stalwart  form. 

"  I  Ve  forgiven  you  and  forgotten 
you  a  long  time  since,  Miss  Burton. 
Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it — it  is,  I  guess.  I  must  tell 
you,  though,  that  I  came  to  you  as 
soon  as  I  found  I  was  wrong.  For  I 
sat  next  to  Professor  Conrad  this  after 
noon,  and  he  told  me  the  truth  about 
that  Maguire  affair.  Rickstaad  said 
the  faculty  hired  you  to  do  it,  you 
know.  I  did  n't  care  anything  about 
your  splendid  plays.  I  only  thought 
of  the  wrong  I  had  done  you.  But 
yes — I  suppose  it 's  all  I  deserve  !  " 


126    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

And  then  her  frightened  little  words 
refused  to  come,  and  James  saw,  with 
sudden  contrition,  the  tears  brimming 
over  those  great  gray  eyes ;  and  he 
said,  trying  not  to  be  fierce  with  him 
self  lest  he  frighten  her,  "  I  am  a  brute, 
and  I  lied !  I  never  could  forget 
you.  See ! "  and  he  pulled  out  from 
his  shirt  that  ridiculous  little  gold 
bangle. 

She  laughed  with  hysterical  delight, 
and  said,  with  an  attempt  at  her  old 
playfulness,  "And  your  arrangements, 
Sir  James,  will  not  permit — " 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  will,"  and  he  forgot 
all  about  her  being  a  Senior  and  a 
member  of  the  exclusive  Amateur  Club, 
and  helped  the  "mere  slip  of  a  girl"  and 
her  mother  into  the  carriage  and  rode 
up  town,  a  very  happy  man,  with  his 
faith  in  friendship  firmly  re-established. 

He  did  not  know,  poor  fellow,  how 
sadly,  how  very  sadly  it  might  again  be 
shaken. 


The  Confraternity  127 

As  for  Jasamine,  she  snuggled  back 
into  a  corner  of  the  carriage  and 
thought  over  and  over  how  very  glad 
she  was  that  he  had  not  forgotten  her, 
and  never  could  forget  her,  and  had 
worn  her  token  through  the  thick  of 
the  battle  and  that  glorious  run  of 
eighty  yards. 

That  night,  as  she  and  her  mother 
sat  by  the  fire  and  the  wind  of  Thanks 
giving  night  went  roaring  thanklessly 
overhead,  Jasamine  remarked,  with  a 
little  tremor  in  her  voice,  and  apropos 
of  nothing  in  particular,  "  There  is 
nothing,  nothing  on  earth  so  fine  for 
development  of  character  in  men  and 
women  as  close  friendships  with  the 
opposite  sex." 

Her  mother  smiled  and  sighed  a 
little,  and  then  replied  discreetly,  "  I 
suppose  you  're  right,  my  dear." 

When  on  New  Year's  the  Sisters  of 
St.  Anthony  opened  a  package  labeled 


128    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"  For  the  Confraternity  of  the  Holy 
Agony"  they  found  among  the  silver  a 
gold  piece.  Such  had  been  the  way 
in  which  James  Hope's  forbears  had 
marked  some  turning-point  in  their 
prayerful  lives,  and  on  that  Thanksgiv 
ing  night  James  had  followed  faithfully 
the  custom  of  his  fathers. 


The  Little  Maid's  Tragedy 

By  Mary  Bell 

'T'HE  Little  Maid  timidly  followed 
1  the  teacher  down  the  aisle  and 
took  the  seat  indicated.  It  was  at  the 
back  of  the  room  with  two  rows  of  girls 
on  her  right,  and  three  rows  of  boys 
on  her  left.  She  wished  the  boys  were 
not  there.  She  had  never  known  but 
one,  and  he  was  ugly. 

The  girl  in  front  of  her,  with  big 
black  eyes  and  curling  hair,  turned  and 
gazed  so  steadily  at  her,  that  she  felt 
she  could  not  remain  in  that  room 
another  moment.  Her  eyes  appealed 
to  her  mother,  who  was  saying  a  few 
words  of  farewell  to  the  teacher. 

"!    am  glad   my   Little    Maid  is  to 


130    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

know  other  children,"  she  said.  "The 
lack  of  companions  has  made  her  differ 
ent  from  most  little  ones."  The  mother 
turned  a  caressing  last  glance  on  her 
child.  She  caught  the  appealing  eyes, 
but  she  softly  closed  the  door.  The 
Little  Maid  was  in  a  new  world  alone. 

The  teacher  called  the  attention  of 
the  class,  and  announced  that  the  first 
name  on  the  roll  of  honor  was  the  same 
that  month  as  the  one  before.  All  eyes 
turned  toward  a  fair-haired  boy  who  sat 
first  in  the  last  row  of  seats.  The  Little 
Maid  could  not  see  his  face ;  but  often 
after  the  excitement  entailed  by  the  read 
ing  of  the  roll  had  subsided,  her  earnest 
blue  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  as  he  bent 
over  a  befigured  slate. 

He  turned  at  last,  and  the  light 
leaped  into  her  heart.  He  was  beautiful 
— but  he  was  not  happy.  Although  he 
knew  more  than  any  other  boy  or  girl 
in  the  room,  something  had  made  him 
very  sad.  His  mother  must  be  dead. 


The  Little  Maid's  Tragedy  131 

For  a  long  time  she  was  unconscious 
that  the  Boy  was  returning  her  gaze, 
and  when  her  eyes  fell  a  strange  feeling 
came  to  her. 

She  looked  up  in  a  little  while  to  see 
if  he  were  looking.  At  the  same  in 
stant  and  with  the  same  hope  he  turned. 
The  Little  Maid  quickly  opened  her 
book,  and  she  dared  not  lift  her  eyes 
until  recess.  She  marched  out  with  the 
other  children,  but  the  Boy  stayed  to 
correct  papers.  He  was  monitor. 

Their  eyes  met  again  that  day.  He 
smiled,  and  in  response  a  mist  blinded 
her.  He  made  her  feel  as  she  did  when 
her  beloved  little  pony  died. 

She  knew  his  presence  when  she  en 
tered  the  room  next  morning.  Twice 
during  the  day  they  glanced  at  each 
other  at  the  same  time.  The  next 
morning  there  was  a  flower  on  her  desk. 
She  did  not  look  at  him,  but  he  saw 
her  blush.  The  next  day  she  joined 
the  rest  of  the  class  in  their  exercises, 


132    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

and  passed  her  papers  in  to  be  corrected. 
They  came  back  to  her  marked  "Per 
fect."  She  was  very  glad.  She  did  not 
want  him  to  think  her  stupid.  The 
teacher  explained  the  examples  after  the 
papers  were  returned,  and  she  found 
the  monitor  had  made  a  mistake ;  for 
two  of  the  examples  marked  as  correct 
had  different  answers  from  those  the 
teacher  said  they  should  have.  She 
looked  at  the  Boy,  but  he  turned  away 
quickly,  and  she  felt  something  pull  at 
her  heart.  She  did  not  know  what  to 
do.  The  teacher  would  give  her  cred 
its  she  should  not  have ;  but  if  she 
told,  perhaps  they  would  not  let  the 
Boy  be  monitor  any  more.  She  knew 
he  was  good,  and  he  would  not  do  it 
again.  He  did  it  that  once  to  let  her 
know  that  he  liked  her  —  and  she  tore 
up  her  paper  quickly.  Then  she  was 
ashamed — ashamed  for  herself  and  the 
Boy. 

She  was  marked  "Perfect"  again  next 


The  Little  Maid's  Tragedy  133 

day.  Three  of  her  examples  were 
wrong.  She  tried  to  tell  her  mother, 
but  could  not.  If  the  Boy  had  not 
helped  her  steal  the  credits  she  would 
have  asked  to  be  forgiven,  but  she 
did  not  want  him  punished ;  and,  as 
she  lay  awake  in  her  little  bed,  she 
remembered  his  sad  eyes  and  thought 
again  that  perhaps  he  had  no  mother, 
and  did  not  know  it  was  wrong  to 
cheat. 

She  studied  desperately,  so  that  she 
would  not  make  a  mistake,  but  she  was 
behind  the  class  in  arithmetic,  and  it 
was  her  most  difficult  study. 

Then  she  grew  so  anxious  and  nerv 
ous  that  she  failed  oftener;  and  once, 
a  thousand  times  worse  than  all,  she 
saw  the  paper  of  the  girl  in  front 
and  copied  the  example.  There  was 
one  excuse.  She  wanted  to  lift  part 
of  the  load  of  sin  from  the  Boy,  even 
at  the  expense  of  doubling  her  own. 
When  the  papers  were  collected,  she 


134    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

hid  her  face,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that 
the  Right  was  something  with  a  thou 
sand  eyes,  and  that  they  were  all  look 
ing  at  her. 

If  she  could  only  speak  to  him!  But 
he,  being  monitor,  always  remained  in 
his  seat  when  the  other  children  were 
obliged  to  march  from  the  room.  He 
never  came  to  her ;  she  dared  not  go  to 
him. 

At  last  the  black-eyed  girl  in  front 
discovered  the  sin.  At  first  she  laughed 
and  teased  until  the  Little  Maid  thought 
she  would  die  of  mortification.  Then 
she  appeared  shocked  and  talked  of 
honor.  The  black-eyed  girl  told  some 
of  the  other  girls,  and  they  threatened 
to  tell  the  teacher ;  but  the  Little  Maid 
was  so  terrified  and  begged  them  so 
piteously  not  to  tell  that  they  re 
lented  on  condition  that  a  note  be 
written  to  the  Boy,  demanding  that 
he  correct  her  papers  as  he  did  the 
others.  Her  problems  came  back  all 


The  Little  Maid's  Tragedy  135 

marked  wrong.  Then,  oh  then,  a  new 
pain  came  to  her.  He  was  a  very 
wicked  Boy.  Three  examples  were  right, 
and  he  had  been  cruel  to  her.  She  tried 
not  to  look  at  him  once  that  day,  but 
his  eyes  appealed  so  for  forgiveness  that 
at  last  she  smiled. 

What  a  throb  of  joy  came  to  her, 
when  once  again  her  paper  was  handed 
back  to  her  marked  "Perfect"!  The 
favors  of  the  beautiful  Boy  were  dearer 
to  her  than  the  possession  of  a  clear 
conscience. 

Every  day  brought  her  a  new  pleasure 
as  well  as  regret.  There  were  flowers 
in  her  desk,  or  a  tiny  basket  filled  with 
bon-bons,  or  a  few  lines  of  childish 
verse ;  and  yet  he  did  not  come  to  her, 
and  she  was  too  timid  to  go  to  him. 

She  had  been  at  school  six  weeks. 
One  morning  she  went  very  early.  She 
would  get  there  before  any  one  else,  and 
when  he  came  she  would  tell  him  they 
must  be  good  and  not  cheat  any  more. 


136    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

He  was  standing  beside  her  desk,  laying 
a  bunch  of  forget-me-nots  upon  her 
books.  She  paused  in  the  door  and 
watched  him  with  flushed  face,  and 
when  he  turned  to  move  away,  she  tried 
to  go  to  him.  Then  he  began  to  walk, 
and  oh !  she  saw  that  he  was  crippled. 
Her  eyes,  dark  and  startled,  followed 
him.  One  little  limb  was  shriveled  and 
dragged  on  the  floor.  When  the  Little 
Maid  fully  realized  the  truth,  she  gave 
a  pitiful  cry,  and  the  Boy  dropped  sud 
denly  into  a  seat.  Then  he  saw  her, 
and  to  his  pale  face  the  blood  rushed. 
Ashamed,  heart-broken,  his  head  fell 
upon  his  arms,  and  the  Little  Maid 
slowly  went  to  her  desk. 

The  Little  Maid's  mother  decided 
that  public-school  life  was  not  making 
her  child  happier  or  wiser,  and  she  at 
last  came  to  take  her  away.  The  other 
children  had  all  left  the  room,  and  they 
were  awaiting  the  return  of  the  teacher 
to  tell  her  good-by.  The  Little  Maid 


The  Little  Maid's  Tragedy  137 

stood  at  the  window  watching.  He 
came  at  last  from  the  door  beneath  her 
—  the  Boy  with  the  beautiful  face  and 
sad  eyes — the  Boy  who  had  stolen 
credits  for  her,  and  who  had  made  her 
feel  very,  very  naughty. 

He  looked  up  !  For  a  moment  he 
met  her  gaze  —  so  full  of  pity  and 
question,  and  then  with  bent  head  he 
dragged  out  of  sight. 

"  How  beautiful  that  lame  boy  is  !  " 
the  mother  said.  But  she  was  looking 
at  the  Little  Maid,  who  lifted  her 
startled  eyes.  Two  great  tears  slipped 
from  the  lashes. 

"  Does  my  Little  Maid  weep  because 
she  cannot  understand  life's  mysteries?" 
said  the  mother  gently,  as  she  put  her 
arms  around  her  child ;  and  from  the 
little  heart  so  full  of  pain  there  came  a 
long,  broken  sob. 

"  I  don't  like  to  live/'  whispered  the 
Little    Maid,   "because    I    don't   know 
what  to  do  !  " 
10 


The    Fate  of  the    Four 

By  Centennia  Barto 

THERE  is  a  strange  bit  of  history 
preserved  in  the  archives  of  the 
Sicard  family.  The  Sicards  are  an  old 
bourgeois  family  whose  generous  in 
come  from  the  Funds  accounts  for 
their  magnificent  old  palace  on  the  Rue 
St.  Honore.  But  several  generations 
back,  before  the  Sicards  had  emerged 
from  obscurity,  in  the  days  of  the  tri- 
colored  cockade,  you  might  find  in  the 
list  "  Citoyens  Iniegres  de  la  Republique" 
the  name  of  St.  Etienne  Sicard.  St. 
Etienne  is  the  one  truly  tragic  figure 
of  this  otherwise  commonplace  family, 
and  the  little  bourgeois  Sicards  of  to 
day,  when  goaded  to  join  in  the  mod- 


The  Fate  of  the  Four      139 

ern  ancestor  chase,  seize  eagerly  upon 
the  name  of  St.  Etienne,  martyr  of  the 
Napoleonic  regime.  Yet  they  dare  not 
claim  for  themselves  all  that  history 
could  give  in  connection  with  this  dei 
fied  ancestor — the  times  are  not  yet 
ripe.  Yet  St.  Etienne  Sicard  well-nigh 
changed  the  map  of  Europe ;  his  star 
once  threatened  the  ascending  Na 
poleon's,  only  Josephine — poor,  sinned 
against,  if  sinning,  Josephine — pre 
served,  unwittingly  and  blunderingly,  it 
is  true,  the  hand  that  later  ostracized 
her.  But  this  startling  bit  of  history 
has  been  till  now  jealously  guarded  in 
the  Sicard  archives.  The  whole  story 
in  its  dramatic  details  was  transmitted 
as  a  sacred  legacy  through  three  gener 
ations,  and  at  last  came  to  light  through 
the  loquacity  of  an  eavesdropping  ser 
vant.  We  give  it  here,  stripped  of 
much  of  its  tragic  setting. 

It   was    in    December    of    1801,  the 
year  of   the   Concordat.      The   ruined 


140    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

hotel  of  the  de  Cambaceres  family 
spoke  eloquently  of  the  ravages  of  the 
Revolution — for  though  Napoleon  had 
recalled  all  noble  emigres  from  exile, 
yet  the  vast  silent  rooms,  despoiled  of 
their  draperies  and  art  treasures,  still 
had  no  occupant.  The  de  Cambaceres 
were  almost  extinct  now;  the  Comte 
and  his  four  sons  had  all  made  their 
last  ceremonious  bow  in  the  world  —  to 
Madame  Guillotine.  None  had  es 
caped.  The  private  hatred  of  Citoyen 
Victor  Lavalette  had  kept  the  dan 
gerous  eye  of  the  republic  upon  them 
till  the  extermination  was  complete. 
As  for  Helene  de  Cambaceres,  it  was 
rumored  that  her  pale,  beautiful  face 
had  been  seen  once  on  the  Champs 
Elysees,  but  whether  she  had  really 
returned  to  Paris,  where  she  had  wit 
nessed  the  frightful  scene  of  the  butch 
ery  of  all  nearest  her,  or  was  still  an 
exile  in  England,  no  one  could  say. 
A  former  servant  of  the  great  house 


The  Fate  of  the   Four      141 

swore  that  he  had  seen  Helene  going 
hurriedly  on  foot  in  one  of  the  most 
wretched  environs  of  Paris,  miserably 
clad  and  without  an  attendant.  He 
was  sure  it  was  she,  despite  the  attenua 
tion  of  a  face  and  figure  once  famous 
in  all  Paris. 

The  Hotel  de  Cambaceres  had  wit 
nessed  great  reverses.  A  few  proud 
portraits,  saber-rent,  remaining  from  fif 
teen  generations  of  French  nobility, 
stared  sternly  upon  a  bourgeois  collec 
tion  of  citoyens,  who,  by  a  grim  irony, 
met  under  this  aristocratic  roof  to  dis 
cuss  plans  for  furthering  the  welfare 
of  the  republic.  The  heavy  oaken 
table,  around  which  Louis  XV.  and  his 
courtiers  had  often  glittered  in  gold 
lace  and  priceless  fripperies  of  jewels  ; 
that  stately  ceiling  which  had  echoed  to 
the  airy  laughter  of  the  beautiful  de 
Pompadour  and  her  wanton  court — 
these  mute  witnesses  of  the  old  careless 
revelry  now  beheld  a  jostling  throng  of 


142     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

hoarse -throated  bourgeoisie,  fierce  and 
voluble,  clamoring  for  "  Egalite'  et  la 
Republique"  their  coarse  fists  mauling 
the  heavy  oak  in  denunciation  of  the 
dangerous  pretensions  of  the  First 
Consul. 

But  beyond  the  mere  general  brag 
gadocio,  there  were  oftentimes  men  of 
earnest  purpose  and  true  patriotic  mo 
tive.  To  these  Napoleon's  rapid  rise 
was  a  cause  of  serious  alarm,  and  their 
fanatic  devotion  to  the  republic  made 
them  dangerous  enemies. 

On  a  December  night  of  1801,  four 
men  admitted  themselves  quietly  to  the 
Hotel  de  Cambaceres.  Silently  they 
seated  themselves  at  the  huge  oaken 
table  in  the  long  dining-hall.  A  single 
flickering  taper  with  sickly  rays  cast 
their  faces  in  half  light,  half  gloom, 
but  it  was  sufficient  to  reveal  St.  Etienne 
Sicard,  young  patriot  and  "Citoyen  In- 
tegre  de  la  Republique"  and  his  three 
companions,  Victor  Lavalette,  Adrien 


The  Fate  of  the  Four      143 

Duchesnois,  and  Eugene  Mastignac. 
Even  the  crafty  eyes  of  Lavalette  showed 
an  unwonted  solemnity,  and  the  pale 
boyish  face  of  Eugene  Mastignac  was 
marked  with  a  shrinking  fear.  Adrien 
Duchesnois  alone  still  preserved  his 
mocking  smile ;  the  recklessness  that 
made  him  hesitate  at  no  hazard,  or  even 
crime,  gave  him  a  certain  air  of  supe 
riority  now  over  even  St.  Etienne.  St. 
Etienne  was  one  of  those  tragic  souls 
who  work  their  own  ruin  by  a  desperate 
resort  to  evil  means  to  secure  a  noble 
end.  And  now  from  his  very  heart  he 
shrank  from  the  work  there  was  for 
him  to  do. 

"Your  plans,  St.  Etienne?"  Lavalette 
demanded  with  impatient  eagerness. 
His  cruel  eyes  were  feverishly  anxious, 
and  his  wrinkled  hands  trembled  with 
a  distressing  rat-tat-tat  on  the  polished 
oak.  Adrien  Duchesnois  noted  the 
movement  with  a  scornful  smile.  He 
turned  to  St.  Etienne. 


144    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"And  I,"  he  asked,  grimly  facetious, 
"what  is  my  role  in  this  little  tragedy — 
the  poison-bowl  or  the  knife?"  As  he 
spoke,  he  seized  his  blade  from  his 
belt  and  with  a  suggestive  gesture 
plunged  it  viciously  into  the  oak,  where 
it  gleamed,  quivering. 

Mastignac  paled,  and  gave  an  invol 
untary  shriek.  Duchesnois  laughed 
aloud  at  the  success  of  his  trick.  "We 
seem  to  be  either  in  our  dotage,"  glan 
cing  at  Lavalette's  trembling  hands,  "or 
womanish  cowards,"  he  said  meaningly 
at  Mastignac. 

"Enough,"  broke  in  St.  Etienne,  de 
cisively.  "Adrien,  you  would  trifle  on 
the  brink  of  the  grave.  Why,  Victor ! 
What  now?" 

Lavalette  was  gazing  with  strained 
eyeballs  at  a  door  in  the  gloom  beyond. 

"It  moved!  I  saw  it  move!"  he 
gasped  hoarsely. 

"Ah,  the  avenging  spirit  of  the  old 
Comte  de  Cambaceres,  Lavalette!"  It 


The  Fate  of  the  Four      145 

was  the  mocking  insinuation  of  Duches- 
nois. 

St.  Etienne  hastily  arose. 

"It  must  be  Courreau.  Our  new  cito- 
yeny  you  remember.  He  was  to  join 
us  to-night."  And  striding  the  length 
of  the  hall,  he  threw  back  the  door,  dis 
closing  a  solitary  figure  standing  rigidly. 
There  was  a  whispered  watchword,  and 
the  two  advanced  again  to  the  table. 
The  light  revealed  a  tall,  slender  youth 
with  deep-sunken,  burning  eyes.  He 
bore  their  sharp  scrutiny  unflinchingly, 
and  seemed  to  accept  at  once  a  position 
in  the  background. 

"And  now,"  began  St.  Etienne  with 
a  deep  breath,  "  to  our  evening's  work. 
You  have  seen  to  the  placing  of  our 
men  in  the  Tuileries,  Duchesnois?" 

"  Yes !  Grandet  is  now  the  only  ob 
stacle  to  an  entrance  to  the  Consul's 
private  apartments.  But  he  is  an  ob 
stinate  devil." 

"Then  he  must  die.     I  think  I  have 


146     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

wormed  myself  sufficiently  into  Jose 
phine's  confidence  to  have  her  sign  him 
to  the  guillotine  to-morrow.  Here  are 
the  forgeries  to  prove  him  a  traitor. 
Poor  honest  Grandet!  And  then  — 
perhaps  to-morrow  night — France  is 
free  again!"  St.  Etienne's  eyes  glis 
tened  with  patriotic  fervor. 

"And  who  —  who  will  —  do  it?  " 
Mastignac  seemed  to  gaze  in  fascinated 
horror  at  some  awful  inward  vision. 

"  For  that/'  answered  St.  Etienne 
gravely,  "  we  must  draw  lots."  And 
amid  dead  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
rustling  of  the  papers  he  was  tearing 
into  strips,  he  prepared  to  put  the  knife 
into  the  hand  that  was  to  rid  France  of 
her  tyrant.  Breathlessly  each  drew  his 
slip  from  St.  Etienne's  firm  fingers. 

Duchesnois  looked  for  the  fatal  cross 
on  his,  saw  a  blank,  and  blew  it  from 
him  with  a  laugh.  The  spasm  of  relief 
on  Lavalette's  face  announced  the  result 
to  him.  "  Daggers  are  not  becoming 


The  Fate  of  the  Four      147 

to  old  women,"  commented  Duches- 
nois. 

"Now,  Eugene,  courage! — it  is  for 
France,"  St.  Etienne  whispered.  The 
trembling  fingers  closed  over  the  paper. 

"Tell  me— I  can't  look,"  he  said 
with  dry  lips,  after  futile  attempts  to 
open  its  folds.  But  the  dagger  was  not 
for  him. 

But  two  remained.  All  turned  in 
stinctively  to  Courreau,  who  seemed 
dazed  at  the  closeness  of  Fate.  Me 
chanically  he  put  out  his  hand  —  lo,  the 
fatal  cross  ! 

At  that  intense  moment,  suddenly  all 
became  aware  of  Lavalette's  long,  bony 
finger  pointing  mutely  at  Courreau 

"That  hand,  that  ring!  It  is  a  traitor!" 

He  was  gazing  as  if  fascinated  at  the 
small  white  hand  of  Courreau  on  which 
glistened  a  beautiful  white  diamond. 
At  the  word  "traitor,"  each  leaped  to  his 
feet.  There  was  the  metallic  sound  of 
swords  drawn  from  scabbards. 


148    Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

"  That  is  no  bourgeois  hand,"  Lava- 
lette  screamed  shrilly — "vile  aristocrat! 
It  is  a  spy  of  the  emigres  or  Napoleon 

—  a  spy,  I  say!    We  are  ruined !"     His 
sword  swung  out,  only  to  clash  with  the 
blade  of  Courreau,  who  stood  desper 
ately  defying  them  all.      Blood  streamed 
from  Lavalette's  right  hand.    Maddened 
at  the  sight,  and  confused  by  the  sudden 
disclosure  of  the  mine  at  their  feet,  all 
rushed    to    the    onset.       Courreau    fell 
mortally  wounded. 

"  Cowards  !  Canaille !    Thus  you  fight 

—  four  against  one,  and   that  one  —  a 
woman!" 

The  four  conspirators,  disordered  and 
still  uncomprehending  all  but  the  danger 
threatening  them,  looked  about  fearfully, 
expecting  a  trap. 

"  Yes,  a  woman, — you  hear  ?  It  is 
Helene,  the  last  of  the  de  Cambaceres!" 

The  conspirators  stared  stupidly. 
Lavalette  grew  ashy  pale.  He  watched 
the  proud  defiance  melt  from  the  dying 


The  Fate  of   the  Four      149 

eyes,  as  the  piteous  hopelessness  of  her 
cruel  fate  overcame  her. 

"Thou  God,"  she  appealed,  "must 
I  die  now,  and  none  to  avenge  the  mur 
der  of  my  father  and  my  brothers  !  " 
In  the  agony  of  these  thoughts  she  fell 
back  gasping.  The  body  relaxed  and 
was  still. 

The  suddenness  of  it  all  paralyzed 
the  conspirators.  But  the  great  tragedy 
of  this  beautiful  girl  was  meaningless 
in  the  face  of  their  own  danger. 

"  Quick !  the  others  may  be  near. 
We  must  get  out  of  this  cursed  house." 

Duchesnois  rushed  to  the  door.  But 
Lavalette  stood  stonily  transfixed.  "The 
last  of  the  de  Cambaceres,"  he  mut 
tered  mechanically.  Then  a  great  fear 
stole  over  his  face. 

"Duchesnois,  I  see  it!  I  see  our 
doom!  It  is  fated  that  we  shall  all  die 
by  the  hand  of  a  woman  — " 

"  Superstitious  fool,  save  your  skin 
while  you  can.  We  must  escape — " 


150    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"  It  is  hopeless  if  it  is  a  plot,  Adrien," 
said  St.  Etienne  quietly.  "But  you 
heard  her  last  words  ?  She  was  alone,  I 
think.  I  shall  present  myself  at  the 
Tuileries  to-morrow  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  Do  you  meet  me  at  my 
house  to-morrow  night  at  nine,  all  of 
you.  And  now  we  had  best  go." 

Silently  they  stole  from  the  ghostly 
house, —  St.  Etienne  with  a  deep  regret 
for  the  tragic  deed  of  that  strange  night, 
with  shame  in  his  heart  and  a  forebod 
ing  of  the  future.  And  the  cold  form 
of  Helene  de  Cambaceres,  the  last  of 
her  name,  lay  dead  in  the  hall  of  her 
ancestors. 

The  afternoon  of  the  next  day  the 
loungers  in  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries 
noted  a  youth  passing  impatiently  up 
and  down,  seemingly  without  purpose, 
and  in  deep  agitation.  It  was  Eugene 
Mastignac  awaiting  the  result  of  St. 
Etienne's  interview  with  Josephine. 
The  thousand  perils  that  threatened 


The  Fate  of  the  Four      151 

them,  the  thoughts  that  the  conspiracy 
might  be  known  to  their  powerful  ene 
mies,  and  that  even  now  St.  Etienne 
might  be  a  prisoner,  that  he  had  walked 
into  the  trap  set  for  him — these  fears 
surged  through  his  heart,  and  he  turned 
sick  with  apprehension  and  suspense. 

But  St.  Etienne  was  safe.  He  came 
up  quickly,  pressed  Eugene's  hand 
without  a  word,  and  silently  they  made 
their  way  to  the  Seine  at  the  Pont 
Royal.  His  mission  had  been  success 
ful.  Josephine  had  been  very  gracious 
to  this  handsome  bourgeois  Sicard,  had 
coquetted  with  him,  and,  finding  him 
somewhat  cold,  she  had  the  more 
quickly  written  and  dispatched  the  fatal 
order  to  consign  Grandet  to  the  guillo 
tine  that  night  at  eleven.  St.  Etienne 
breathed  more  fully  when  he  saw  the 
jeweled  pen  fly  over  the  paper,  and 
the  order  handed  instantly  to  a  guard 
to  be  put  into  execution. 

And   now   there  was   nothing  to  do 


152    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

but  to  wait.  They  would  watch  from  St. 
Etienne's  room  in  the  Rue  Vanneau 
for  the  guard  to  come  to  remove 
Grandet,  who  lived  just  below — then 
the  way  would  be  clear. 

So  the  four  conspirators  began  their 
weary  vigil,  gazing  fixedly  down  the 
street  for  the  appearance  of  the  gen 
darmes.  They  could  hear  the  uncon 
scious  Grandet  moving  about  below, 
preparing  his  humble  meal.  An  hour 
and  a  half  had  dragged  out  its  length, 
when  there  was  a  sharp  knock  at  the 
door  of  the  concierge.  There  were  muf 
fled  tones  of  conversation  and  heavy 
steps  on  the  creaking  stair.  The  door 
was  flung  abruptly  open  and  the  con 
cierge  announced  that  this  was  the 
apartment  of  Citoyen  Sicard. 

"  Ah,  you  wish  to  know .  if  the 
Grandet  you  see  lives  here  ? "  asked 
St.  Etienne  of  the  gendarmes  in  the 
doorway. 

"We  wish  no  Grandet.     Our  orders 


The  Fate  of  the  Four      153 

are  for  Citoyen  Sicard,"  was  the  abrupt 
response. 

"  A  summons  from  Citoyenne  Jo 
sephine?  " 

"  An  order  of  the  Citoyenne  Joseph 
ine.  We  are  to  seize  and  deliver  to 
execution  at  eleven  this  night  a  St.  Eti- 
enne  Sicard.  You  are  he." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  stammered 
St.  Etienne,  paling.  "  You  have  made 
some  mistake.  It  is  Grandet,  St.  Eti 
enne  Grandet,  you  mean."  Yet  the 
frightful  suspicion  of  treachery  grew 
strong  within  him. 

"Here  are  our  orders, Citoyen  Sicard.'* 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  hand  of 
Josephine.  It  was  the  paper  he  had 
seen  her  write  that  afternoon.  The 
name  "St.  Etienne  Sicard"  was  clear 
and  firm. 

"  We  are  betrayed  !  "     Big  drops  of 
cold   perspiration   stood    on    his   brow. 
Helplessly  he  allowed  his  hands  to  be 
fettered, 
ii 


154    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

The  other  three  knew  resistance  was 
useless.  Their  ruin  was  upon  them. 
Eugene  Mastignac  threw  himself  at  the 
feet  of  the  stolid  gendarmes,  and  ut 
tered  wild  words  of  entreaty  for  the  life 
of  St.  Etienne.  They  pushed  him 
roughly  aside  and  dragged  the  prisoner 
down  the  stair.  As  the  door  closed 
behind  him,  St.  Etienne  heard  a  shriek 
and  a  fall.  It  was  Eugene  Mastignac, 
who  had  fainted. 

When  Eugene  opened  his  eyes  again 
he  found  himself  alone  with  Duches- 
nois.  There  was  a  look  in  Duchesnois' 
face  before  which  Eugene  trembled. 

"  I  see  you  understand,"  he  said  sig 
nificantly  over  the  prostrate  form. 
"  The  game  is  up  for  us  all,  Made 
moiselle  Eugenie  Mastignac,  and  espe 
cially  for  you." 

"  For  me  ?  "  The  vague  question 
was  simply  to  gain  time. 

"  Yes,  for  you.  I  know  you.  I 
know  why  you  became  one  of  us.  Is 


The  Fate  of  the  Four      155 

all  womankind  to  go  masquerading 
nowadays  ?  "  Duchesnois  pointed  sig 
nificantly  at  the  trim  figure  in  its  ill- 
fitting  clothes.  Eugenie  looked  wildly 
about  for  some  avenue  of  escape  from 
this  tormentor. 

"  Yes,  we  are  alone.  Your  St.  Eti- 
enne  has  gone  to  become  a  saint  in 
reality.  Ah,  that  touches  you.  How 
you  must  have  loved  him  ! "  Then 
for  a  deeper  thrust:  "And  he  did  not 
know — now  he  will  never  know!  " 

A  great  wave  of  desolation  swept 
over  her  soul.  But  one  idea  possessed 
her — to  rush  to  St.  Etienne  and  to  make 
his  death  sweeter  by  the  knowledge  of 
the  love  of  one  humble  being.  Then 
she  could  die.  She  rose,  swaying,  to 
her  feet. 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  fair  Eugenie/'  An 
arm  barred  her  progress.  A  dread  of 
this  strong,  mocking  man  made  her 
pitiably  brave. 

"How   dare    you   keep   me!" — she 


156    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

struggled  fiercely  in  his  grasp.  But  the 
contest  had  aroused  all  the  dormant 
animal  within  him — Eugenie's  strength 
was  rapidly  failing. 

"  Let  me  go,  or  I  will  kill  you ! "  she 
gasped. 

The  bells  pealed  the  hour  of  eleven. 

St.  Etienne  is  dead !  The  bells 
tolled  solemnly. 

Despair  seized  Eugenie.  In  a  mo 
ment  it  was  over.  The  dagger  gave 
two  quick  thrusts.  The  morning  light 
found  the  rigid  bodies  of  Duchesnois 
and  Eugenie,  stained  with  each  other's 
blood. 

Death  at  a  woman's  hand  !  Was  La- 
valette's  prophetic  vision  coming  to 
pass  ? 

And  Lavalette?  He  had  fled  like 
a  haunted  thing,  dreading  to  look  be 
fore  or  behind.  He  must  get  beyond 
this  cruel  Paris,  the  city  of  hateful  eyes. 
And  then  ?  To  starve  ?  Perhaps  it 
was  the  sight  of  his  injured  hand  that 


The  Fate  of  the  Four      157 

suggested  it — like  a  flash  came  the 
vision  of  the  stone  on  Helene  du  Cam- 
baceres'  rotting  hand.  It  meant  life 
and  safety.  Creeping  along  the  shadows 
of  the  Rue  St.  Dominique,  he  came  to 
the  deserted  hotel.  Noiselessly  he  en 
tered.  There  was  his  ghoulish  work. 

The  history  of  the  conspirators  is 
complete  with  two  items,  gleaned,  first, 
from  the  official  city  reports,  and  from 
Hector  Vilibert,  private  guard  to  Jose 
phine.  In  the  list  of  the  morgue  un 
fortunates  of  the  year  1801  is  the  name 
of  one  Victor  Lavalette,  found  dead  in 
the  Hotel  de  Cambaceres ;  cause  of 
death,  blood-poisoning.  Few  compil 
ers  of  dreary  statistics  realize  the  trag 
edy  behind  that  commonplace  record. 

Hector  Vilibert  testified  that  having 
reported  to  Josephine  the  satisfactory 
execution  of  the  traitor  St.  Etienne 
Sicard,  she  had  reviled  him  in  angry 
words,  ordering  him  to  the  guillotine 


158    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

for  his  blunder,  and  it  was  only  by 
showing  her  own  handwriting  that  he 
was  exculpated  from  the  consequences 
of  Josephine's  careless  substitution  of 
the  name  St.  Etienne  Sicard  for  that 
of  St.  Etienne  Grandet. 

Were  these  instruments  of  Fate — 
the  dead  hand  of  Helene  de  Camba- 
ceres,  and  the  unwitting  fingers  of  Jose 
phine  ? 


A   Matter  of  State 

By  Richard  Walton  Tully 

IT  is  n't  every  summer  that  a  fellow 
gets  the  chance  to  visit  Central  Amer 
ica,  or  at  least  to  sail  along  its  coast.  I 
must  confess  that  I  was  delighted  when 
the  opportunity  to  do  this  dropped,  as 
it  seemed,  into  my  hands  a  week  after 
college  closed.  Captain  Weston  said  I 
would  be  welcome  to  go  along  on  the 
Benito  to  Panama  and  back.  The  Pater 
agreed  that  it  would  be  an  excellent 
thing  for  my  chest,  which  my  relatives 
in  congress  assembled  had  decided  was 
not  sufficiently  developed,  in  spite  of 
my  three  years  of  drill.  So  I  went. 

Now  that  I  think  it  over,  it  does  n't 
matter  much  why  I  went  or  what  I  ex 
pected  to  do.  What  really  should  be 


160    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

noted  is  that  I  occupied  state-room  63, 
and  occupied  it  alone.  When  I  placed 
my  name  on  the  passenger-list,  I  had 
noticed  that  I  was  to  have  as  a  room 
mate  a  person  named  Banks — James 
K.  Banks.  But  when  the  steamer  had 
slipped  out  of  the  Gate  and  I  had  de 
cided  that  I  did  not  think  much  of  the 
motion  of  the  vessel  anyway,  I  found, 
on  retiring  to  my  room,  that  Banks, 
J.  K.,  as  aforesaid,  was  not  within,  nor 
were  his  goods,  nor  anything  that  was 
his.  As  a  result,  I  had  the  entire  apart 
ment  to  myself  during  the  whole  of  the 
voyage. 

There  is  n't  much  happens  on  a 
steamer,  even  if  one  wishes  to  describe 
such  things — and  I  don't.  My  memory 
of  the  trip  down  the  coast  consists  of  a 
confused  mixture  of  swishing  winds, 
hot,  broiling  calms,  wet,  sudden  thunder 
storms,  and  the  smell  of  greasy  cooking. 
The  one  pleasurable  experience  of  the 
trip  was  purely  social. 


A  Matter  of  State          161 

After  we  left  San  Diego,  I  was  able 
to  appear  at  my  place  at  the  table.  In 
scanning  my  fellow  passengers,  I  noticed 
at  the  other  side  of  the  table,  some  dis 
tance  to  my  left,  a  young  lady  whose 
face  seemed  familiar  to  me.  As  she 
caught  my  eye  later,  she  smiled  and 
bowed  slightly.  Of  course,  I  bowed; 
but  I  must  have  shown  that  I  was  en 
deavoring  to  recall  her  name,  for  her 
smile  broadened  to  a  laugh,  which 
quickly  sobered  to  a  severely  mischiev 
ous  look  straight  to  the  front.  Then 
I  remembered  where  I  had  seen  that 
splendid  profile  before.  It  was  Dolores 
Anguiana  of  my  "Prep"  school  days  at 
St.  Mark's  down  at  San  Mateo,  with 
whom  I  had  danced  half  the  numbers 
that  night  in  old  Trinity  Hall,  when  I 
had  graduated  with  her  brother.  I  was 
no  longer  in  doubt;  no  one  could  mis 
take  those  clear  black  eyes  with  their 
great  curved  lashes,  that  roguish  chin, 
or  that  delicate  olive  skin. 


162    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

I  went  over  to  her  after  I  had  fin 
ished  my  meal  and  dropped  into  a 
vacant  chair  beside  her. 

"  Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
Miss  Dolores  ?  "  I  asked. 

"You  should  answer  that  question 
yourself,  Mr.  Malcom,"  she  answered. 
"  You  did  n't  know  me.  Now,  confess 
you  did  n't."  And  she  smiled  know 
ingly. 

"  I  '11  not  pretend  that  I  did.  But 
you  have  changed;  you  are  not  so — 
so—" 

"  Much  of  a  kid,  as  Miguel  says. 
Is  that  it?  Well,  it's  the  worry  of 
official  life."  And  she  tried  to  look 
serious.  "  But  pardon  me,"  she  con 
tinued,  "  this  is  Senora  Cienfuegos. 
You  have  heard  of  General  Cienfue- 
gos." 

I  confessed  that  I  had,  and  in  return 
the  ladies  informed  me  that  he  had  re 
mained  in  San  Francisco  "on  special 
government  business,"  instead  of  re- 


A   Matter  of  State          163 

turning  with  them  to  Guataragua.  "And 
so,"  concluded  Seiiorita  Dolores  pathet 
ically,  "we  had  to  return  alone  on  this 
horrid,  stupid  boat." 

"  Not  so,  indeed,  with  such  charming 
passengers,"  I  ventured  gallantly. 

The  Senora  sniffed  and  her  compan 
ion  colored  slightly  as  she  replied,  "I 
see  you  have  lost  none  of  your  propen 
sity  to  flatter."  I  was  glad  to  see,  how 
ever,  that  she  looked  pleased. 

It  was  evening,  when  we  were  pacing 
along  the  deck  in  the  brisk  wind  that 
was  blowing,  that  I  asked  her  what  my 
old  friend  Anguiana  had  been  doing 
since  he  left  school. 

"Don't  you  know?"  said  the  Seno- 
rita,  as  she  caught  her  wide  hat  to  pre 
vent  its  blowing  away  into  the  darkness. 
"  Why,  Miguel  is  in  the  Government 
House  at  Manaqua — he  's  Secretary 
of  State  under  President  Cabanas." 

And  then  I  remembered  the  reports 
from  the  south  of  the  overthrowing  of 


1 64    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

the  last  government  and  its  dictator, 
General  Barrios,  who  had  gone  to  the 
United  States  to  raise  a  filibustering 
expedition  to  retrieve  his  fallen  for 
tunes. 

I  was  n't  pleased  to  learn  that  my 
old  friend  was  mixed  up  in  the  kaleid 
oscopic  politics  of  those  despotisms 
which  call  themselves  republics ;  and  I 
so  expressed  myself. 

"Sorry?  I  sorry?"  she  said,  draw 
ing  herself  up  proudly.  "Indeed  I  'm 
not.  Do  you  know  why  he  is  there  ? 
Because  he  must  revenge  the  death  of 
my  father.  Miguel  is  no  coward." 
And  she  launched  forth  into  a  bitter 
discussion  of  the  political  troubles  of 
Guataragua. 

I  confess  I  did  not  care  particularly 
to  hear  of  the  petty  doings  of  this  toy 
republic,  and  would  have  much  pre 
ferred  the  pleasanter  subject  of  my 
boarding-school  days ;  but  once  her 
spirit  was  aroused,  I  was  compelled 


A  Matter  of  State          165 

to  listen  to  the  Senorita's  description 
of  the  condition  of  affairs  in  that  coun- 
try. 

Darrios  had  caused  her  father  to  be 
assassinated  for  suspected  treason,  and 
his  estates  had  been  confiscated.  She 
and  Miguel  had  been  at  school  in  the 
States,  and  so  had  escaped  the  general 
proceedings  against  the  family  that  had 
been  carried  on  with  all  the  refined 
cleverness  of  the  Inquisition.  At  last 
Miguel  had  landed  secretly  and  joined 
General  Cienfuegos,  who  had  induced 
the  army  to  revolt.  In  the  revolution 
which  followed,  Miguel  had  proved  him 
self  a  good  soldier,  and  when  Darrios 
had  been  expelled  he  had  been  given 
the  office  of  Secretary  of  State. 

"And  now,"  concluded  the  Senorita 
enthusiastically,  "our  party  is  in  full 
control.  We  have  the  army,  the  for 
eigners,  and  most  of  the  upper  classes. 
You  know  the  Indians  and  Mestizos 
don't  count." 


166    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"But,"  I  said,  "how  long  will  you 
keep  control?" 

"  Oh,  it  shall  be  permanent  this  time," 
she  said  smilingly  ;  that 's  why  General 
Cienfuegos  stayed  behind.  It  was  to 
stop  Darrios  from  sending  aid  to  his 
followers.  Without  it  they  will  soon 
disappear.  It  is  only  necessary  for  us 
to  control  Manaqua  to  hold  the  entire 
country.  We  can  do  that  with  the 
army." 

In  my  mind  I  had  a  doubt  as  to  the 
loyalty  of  the  average  Central  Ameri 
can  army,  but  I  did  not  disturb  the 
girl  by  voicing  my  sentiments.  Instead, 
I  talked  of  the  past,  and  endeavored 
to  begin  my  friendship  with  her  again 
from  where  I  had  left  off  three  years 
before. 

The  night  before  we  were  to  reach 
Manaqua,  I  stood  with  Dolores  in  the 
shelter  of  a  ventilator-pipe.  She  was 
quiet,  and  I  also  was  far  from  happy,  as 


A   Matter  of   State          167 

her  company  had  been  more  than  agree 
able,  and  I  was  anticipating  a  very  dull 
voyage  after  she  had  gone  ashore.  I 
mentioned  the  fact  to  her,  and,  although 
it  may  have  been  irrelevant,  I  stated 
that  at  the  very  first  I  had  been  de 
prived  of  a  companion  in  my  room 
mate,  Banks,  who  had  never  appeared. 

To  my  surprise  she  gave  a  hearty 
laugh  and  said,  "  Of  course  he  did  n't," 
immediately  subsiding,  and  refusing  to 
say  more  about  the  missing  man,  whom 
she  evidently  knew. 

It  was  rather  late,  and  while  I  was 
saying  my  farewell  to  the  Senorita  she 
suddenly  pointed  forward  and  off  to 
the  left  where  several  dim  lights  showed 
faintly. 

"  That  is  Manaqua,"  she  said. 
"  Some  day,  if  you  care  to  visit  us,  we 
shall  be  pleased  to  welcome  you  as  our 
guest.  Good -by." 

As  she  turned  I  caught  her  extended 
hand  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  fin- 


i68     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

gers  in  true  cavalier  fashion  before  she 
could  withdraw  them.  She  gave  me 
one  last  look,  not  in  the  least  dis 
pleased,  and  vanished  within,  while  I 
strolled  to  my  room  wondering  what 
she  knew  about  the  absent  Banks. 

It  was  a  stuffy  night;  so  I  left  my 
door  ajar  and  turned  in.  I  had  slept 
several  hours  when  I  awoke  to  realize 
that  one  of  the  sudden  rains  of  the 
tropics  had  come  up  and  was  driving 
into  the  room.  I  arose  to  close  the 
door,  and  was  about  to  do  so  when  I 
heard  a  voice  say,  "This  is  62  —  the 
next  is  63."  After  this  followed  a 
conversation  in  Spanish,  which  I  could 
barely  follow  with  all  my  grouping  on 
Romance  languages.  The  men  —  there 
were  several  of  them — were  hunting 
for  my  room. 

I  resolved  to  retain  the  small  sum 
of  money  which  I  possessed  as  tena 
ciously  as  possible ;  so  I  closed  the 
door  and  reached  under  my  pillow  for 


A   Matter  of  State          169 

my  revolver.  Instead  of  trying  to 
enter,  however,  those  outside  knocked 
loudly  on  the  door. 

"  Who  's  there  ?  "  I  asked  sleepily. 

"  You  are  wanted  immediately,"  a 
voice  answered. 

"  Who  wants  me  ?  " 

"  The  Captain.      Hurry  up  !  " 

In  a  second  I  had  passed  the  matter 
through  my  mind.  It  was  impossible 
for  any  one  to  commit  violence  on  a 
boat  of  this  kind.  But  perhaps  Cap 
tain  Weston  needed  my  help  for  some 
purpose.  I  quickly  pulled  on  my 
clothes,  and  jamming  my  hat  on  my 
head  and  my  pistol  into  my  pocket, 
I  went  outside.  Three  men  stood  in 
the  shelter  of  the  wall  to  escape  the 
rain,  which  was  coming  down  in  a  driz 
zle. 

"Where  is  he?"   I  asked. 

"  On  the  wharf,"  answered  the  man 
who  spoke  English.  "  Come  !  " 

While    I    followed    the   men   to   the 
12 


170    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

bow  of  the  boat,  I  made  out  in  the 
blackness  of  the  night  that  the  steamer 
was  lying  at  a  small  wharf  which  pro 
jected  out  from  an  inky  mass  of  land 
that  rose  to  a  considerable  height  in 
the  distance.  To  the  right  was  another 
sooty  streak,  and  so  I  judged  that  we 
were  in  a  bay.  The  red  steamer- 
lights  and  the  white  lantern  on  the 
wharf  showed  out  dimly. 

We  went  to  the  front  and  down  the 
gang-plank  to  the  wharf.  I  felt  a  cer 
tain  misgiving,  but  this  vanished  when 
I  saw  a  figure  waiting  for  us.  Then  my 
spirits  fell  again  as  I  saw  it  was  not 
Captain  Weston. 

The  man  who  spoke  English  called 
ahead,  "Here  he  is,  Captain." 

The  "Captain"  advanced,  and  raising 
his  hand  to  his  cap,  said  distinctly, 
"Lieutenant  Banks,  I  believe." 

I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  it  was  the 
three  years  of  carrying  a  musket  over 
the  Berkeley  hills  that  made  me  instinct- 


A  Matter  of  State          171 

ively  return  the  salute.  That  action 
was  my  undoing.  "Captain"  took  my 
action  for  an  affirmative  answer,  and 
turning  on  his  heel,  said :  "We  were 
waiting  for  you ;  come  on.  Pedro,  if 
any  one  tries  to  stop  us,  shoot  him 
down  like  a  dog  !" 

Who  "we"  were,  I  was  at  a  loss  to 
comprehend.  One  thing  was  certain, 
however, — with  Pedro  on  the  lookout 
behind,  it  was  safer  for  me  to  go  for 
ward  than  to  hesitate.  So  I  marched  in 
silence  between  the  men  down  the  long 
wharf.  We  then  climbed  up  the  dark, 
silent  street,  splashing  along  the  winding 
way  through  mud-puddles  and  ruts  left 
by  the  native  carts.  As  I  walked  along, 
I  tried  to  solve  the  riddle  of  my  posi 
tion.  I  was  evidently  a  Lieutenant 
Banks — undoubtedly  an  American,  from 
the  name — for  whom  "we"  had  been 
waiting.  That  Banks  was  not  known 
personally  was  evident  but  not  certain. 
I  hefted  the  revolver  in  my  pocket, 


172    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

and  decided  that  the  situation  was  ex 
hilarating,  at  any  rate. 

Two  men  behind  me  were  talking  in 
Spanish.  The  trend  of  their  conver 
sation  was  lost  amid  imprecations  at  the 
falling  rain.  The  "Captain"  turned 
and  in  Spanish  told  them  to  be  silent. 
Then  he  said  to  me  abruptly,  "How  is 
he?" 

"Oh,  as  well  as  could  be  expected," 
I  answered  coolly. 

"Did  he  send  any  money?" 

Of  that  I  was  certain.  "No!"  I 
answered  shortly. 

The  men  behind  me  broke  out  anew 
with  maledictions.  "Captain"  uttered 
an  oath.  "  I  suppose  he  '11  bring  it  with 
him — the  beast!" 

"I  suppose  so,"  I  answered  imper- 
turbably. 

Further  conversation  was  cut  short  as 
the  leader  dived  through  the  thick  foli 
age  that  lined  the  road  and  approached 
a  low,  pale-looking  house  of  two  stories 


A   Matter  of  State          173 

that  was  set  back  from  the  road.  Around 
the  frames  of  the  windows  narrow  streaks 
of  light  showed  that  some  one  was  stir 
ring  within. 

At  this  point  the  spirit  of  adventure 
had  nearly  died  out  within  me.  I  wished 
myself  well  out  of  the  matter.  How 
ever,  there  seemed  no  other  course  but 
to  enter.  The  door  swung  open,  and 
"Captain"  passed  within  and  stood  wait 
ing  for  me.  In  the  light  of  the  room  I 
saw  his  face  for  the  first  time.  It  was 
an  extremely  villainous  one,  and  the 
other  men  were  a  hard-looking  set. 

I  glanced  about.  I  found  myself  in 
a  rectangular  room  which  occupied  about 
one-half  of  the  lower  floor,  and  was 
meagerly  furnished,  after  the  manner  of 
tropical  houses.  At  one  side  a  lighted 
candle  burned  on  the  table.  In  the 
farther  corner  I  could  see  several  men 
sleeping  on  the  floor. 

The  "Captain"  gave  a  low  shout, 
and  from  above  came  the  sound  of  per- 


174    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

sons  moving  about.  The  men  on  the 
floor  turned  sleepily,  but  arose  on  find 
ing  the  cause  of  the  disturbance.  They 
came  up  and  looked  at  me  curiously. 
"  El  Gringo  Capitan  !  "  they  ejaculated, 
and  appeared  rather  pleased  to  see  me. 

Then  I  guessed  that  they  were  my 
friends, —  or  at  least  Banks's  friends, — 
and  I  smiled  into  their  ugly  faces.  The 
noise  above  increased,  and,  after  sounds 
of  persons  coming  downstairs,  a  dozen 
or  more  half-breeds  entered  through  the 
door  which  evidently  led  to  the  next 
room.  I  was  now  surrounded  by  a 
score  of  men.  "Captain"  pointed  to 
a  chair  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
"Lieutenant  Banks,"  he  said,  "tell  us 
what  says  General  Darrios." 

Solved  !  Darrios  —  Banks  —  it  all 
became  clear.  These  men  took  me  for 
a  revolutionary  emissary.  I  was  think 
ing  very  rapidly  as  I  mounted  the 
rude  rostrum.  "  I  must  know  first 
what  you  have  done  in  the  General's 


A   Matter  of  State          175 

absence,"  I  said,  looking  steadily  at 
"  Captain." 

The  latter  burst  out  with  an  oath. 
"  Curse  them  !  they  're  riding  it  higher 
than  ever.  But  we  've  done  everything 
that  he  wrote  us  to  do.  To-night  the 
revolt  will  start.  All  depends  on  secur 
ing  success  at  first.  We  '11  knife  the 
leaders,  and  in  the  confusion  seize  the 
treasury.  Then  about  half  the  army 
will  come  over,  and  we  '11  proclaim  Dar- 
rios  dictator  at  the  plaza  and  overawe 
the  town.  When  will  the  General  arrive 
in  his  yacht?  " 

A  murmur  went  up  as  "  Captain  " 
finished.  Every  eye  was  now  turned 
toward  me.  I  saw  that  there  was  a  fine 
chance  for  some  tall  argumentation  that 
you  don't  find  in  books. 

In  my  speech  that  followed  I  must 
have  filled  the  bill,  for  they  seemed 
satisfied.  I  located  Darrios  in  his 
yacht  only  a  day's  journey  off,  and 
assured  them  that  he  would  be  present 


176    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

to  rule  over  the  new  government.  I 
closed  with  a  beautiful  peroration  of 
fireworks  and  patriotism,  and  ended 
with  a  flourish. 

The  men  were  pleased,  but  "  Cap 
tain  "  looked  slightly  sour.  He  jumped 
upon  the  chair  I  had  vacated.  "  Vas- 
quez  !  Vasquez  !  "  they  cried.  I  saw 
he  was  popular  with  his  men.  He 
spoke  to  them  rapidly  in  Spanish.  He 
said  they  did  n't  want  any  cursed  Grin 
go  talk;  they  were  going  to  act.  Pedro 
he  delegated  with  ten  men  to  take  the 
treasury.  He  would  go  with  the  re 
mainder  to  the  Government  House. 

"  Remember/'  he  said,  "  your  Gen 
eral  is  coming  back  to  redeem  your 
country  from  the  hands  of  the  thieves 
into  which  it  has  fallen.  Go  back  to 
your  homes,  but  come  here  to-night 
before  you  go  to  your  stations.  When 
the  signal  comes  from  the  Government 
House,  do  what  you  have  been  told  to 
do.  But  remember," — and  his  eyes 


A  Matter  of  State          177 

flashed  wickedly, — "  no  one  must  touch 
the  vaults  until  I  come.  Go  !  " 

The  men  filed  out,  and  I  noted  me 
chanically  that  it  had  cleared  up.  Vas- 
quez  walked  toward  me  insolently  and 
bowed  low. 

"  Perhaps  the  Lieutenant  would  like 
to  finish  his  sleep/'  he  said. 

I  should  have  liked  to  punch  his 
ugly  face,  but  I  simply  nodded  and 
followed  him  across  the  room  into  an 
other  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the 
floor  above.  In  the  corner  was  a  cot. 
He  motioned  to  it.  "  Sleep  well,  for 
there's  lots  of  work  to  do  to-night." 

"  Perhaps  there  '11  be  more  than  you 
think,"  I  thought,  as  I  listened  to  his 
retreating  footsteps ;  for  it  is  needless 
to  say  that  I  had  determined  to  escape 
and  warn  the  Anguianas  at  all  hazards.' 
Then  I  commenced  to  examine  the 
room,  and  it  took  me  only  a  short  time 
to  find  out  that  I  could  not  escape 
from  it  but  in  one  way,  and  that  was 


178    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

the  one  by  which  I  had  entered.  There 
were  no  windows,  and  the  tiles  were 
fastened  solidly  to  the  roof  and  walls 
of  heavy  logs.  Nowhere  was  there  a 
space  over  three  inches  wide  between 
the  logs. 

I  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  cot 
and  thought.  I  still  had  my  pistol, 
and  I  judged  that  perhaps  a  bold  dash 
might  carry  me  through  the  men  down 
stairs.  I  thought  it  over  again.  Then 
I  took  off  my  shoes  and  crept  to  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  Below  I  could  hear 
Vasquez  giving  orders  to  his  men. 
"Watch  that  cursed  Gringo  upstairs/* 
he  was  saying;  "I  don't  trust  them. 
We'll  use  him  to-night,  and  then — " 
I  heard  a  slightly  audible  sound. 

The  "better  part  of  valor"  decided 
me  not  to  make  the  attempt  imme 
diately  ;  so  I  retired  to  the  cot  to  await 
a  more  favorable  time.  It  was  well  for 
me  that  I  did  so ;  for  on  going  down  to 
meals  a  little  later,  I  found  that  they 


A   Matter  of   State          179 

always  kept  a  man  with  a  gun  guarding 
the  doorway. 

While  I  ate  with  the  men  at  the 
greasy  table,  I  found  out  the  complete 
plans  for  the  night.  Vasquez  told  me 
that  there  was  to  be  a  ball  in  the  Gov 
ernment  House  in  honor  of  the  return 
of  "  that  damned  animal,  Anguiana's 
sister."  All  the  men  would  attend  un 
armed.  At  the  appointed  time  he  would 
stab  President  Cabanas  and  make  away 
with  Anguiana.  I  was  to  be  waiting 
outside  with  the  men,  and  at  this  junc 
ture  was  to  rush  in  with  them  and  hold 
the  occupants  of  the  room  prisoners 
until  he  returned  from  the  treasury,  and 
then  —  The  sinister  smile  that  spread 
over  his  face  told  me  how  much  mercy 
his  victims  might  expect  from  him. 

Shortly  before  eight  o'clock,  I  ex 
amined  my  pistol  and  found  it  in  good 
condition.  I  had  figured  that  Vasquez 
would  come  up  to  call  me,  and  I  was 


i8o    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

resolved  to  try  the  resort  of  the  success 
ful  romantic  hero  and  compel  him  to 
change  clothes  with  me ;  after  which 
I  would  walk  downstairs  and  through 
his  men.  But  Vasquez  only  knocked 
on  the  wall  and  shouted,  "  Come  on/' 
as  he  went  down. 

I  saw  that  my  only  hope  of  warning 
my  friends  was  at  the  scene  of  action, 
and  I  went  down.  Vasquez  pointed  at 
a  sword  that  was  lying  on  the  table.  I 
buckled  it  on. 

"Have  you  a  pistol?"  he  asked. 

"No."   ' 

"Then  take  this/'  and  he  shoved  a 
small  revolver  into  my  hands. 

We  started  out  again  down  the  dark 
roadway  toward  the  lights  of  the  town. 
It  was  very  clear.  I  could  see  the 
vacant  wharf  below  and  vaguely  won 
dered  what  Captain  Weston  had  thought 
of  my  disappearance. 

We  reached  the  grounds  about  the 
Government  House  in  a  roundabout 


A  Matter  of  State          181 

way  by  the  Indian  adobe  houses.  It  was 
brilliantly  lighted  within.  We  took  up 
our  position  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees 
near  the  door.  Vasquez  left  us,  and  I 
saw  him  go  up  the  steps  with  a  smile 
on  his  sneering  countenance.  Above 
us  was  a  portico  that  was  on  the  level 
of  the  ballroom  floor.  I  could  hear 
the  faint  strains  of  an  overture  which 
told  me  that  the  dance  had  not  yet 
commenced.  In  a  moment  I  had  de 
cided  on  my  course  of  action. 

"See  here,"  I  said,  turning  to  one  of 
the  men,  "we  can't  see  when  to  act  here. 
I  '11  climb  up  and  give  you  the  signal 
from  the  portico." 

The  man  looked  at  me  suspiciously 
and  hesitated. 

"  I  '11  go  through  the  window  and 
join  you  when  you  rush  the  door,"  I 
said  angrily.  "  Do  you  think  that  I 
am  trying  to  run  away?  " 

The  fellow  grinned  uneasily,  but  I 
did  not  waste  further  time  with  him,  for 


1 82     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

every  moment  was  precious.  I  com 
menced  to  scale  one  of  the  posts,  and 
as  I  went  up  I  expected  every  moment 
to  feel  a  knife  in  my  back.  I  went 
higher,  and  then  I  knew  that  I  was  safe, 
for  they  would  not  dare  shoot  until  the 
appointed  time. 

The  music  had  stopped,  and  I  heard 
the  hum  of  conversation.  Perhaps  I 
should  be  too  late!  Another  foot,  and 
I  swung  over  the  railing  of  the  bal 
cony  just  as  the  orchestra  struck  up  a 
march. 

Through  a  window  I  could  see  the 
procession  had  formed  and  was  coming 
down  the  middle  of  the  room.  At  its 
head  was  a  small  dark  man  with  gray 
hair  and  a  blue  ribbon  across  his  breast. 
Clinging  to  his  arm  was  Dolores  Angui- 
ana.  Behind  him  was  Miguel,  with 
another  fair  girl ;  and  directly  across  the 
hall  from  me  was  Vasquez,  leaning 
against  the  wall.  I  noticed  that  he  held 
one  wrist  crooked,  as  if  concealing  some- 


A  Matter  of  State          183 

thing  up  the  sleeve  of  his  brilliantly 
faced  uniform. 

The  march  proceeded  down  the  room 
and  around  toward  Vasquez.  At  this 
juncture  I  attempted  to  raise  a  window, 
but  found  it  fastened  on  the  inside. 
A  second  more  and  I  saw  Vasquez  dart 
at  the  elder  man,  who  led  the  march. 

I  can  not  describe  exactly  just  what 
happened.  I  know  I  went  through 
the  window  at  a  jump  and  landed 
on  the  floor  in  a  heap.  Vasquez  had 
struck  the  old  man  down,  but  turned 
to  see  what  had  caused  the  crash  before 
he  struck  at  Anguiana. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence. 
Then  a  scream  went  up  just  as  I  fired 
at  Vasquez. 

I  did  not  stop  to  see  the  result  of 
my  shot ;  for  I  heard  the  trample  of 
men  ascending  the  front  stairs,  and 
I  sprang  toward  the  door  to  meet  them. 
Up  they  came  with  a  rush,  filling  the 
air  with  curses.  From  the  shelter  of  a 


184    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

stone  pillar  I  commenced  a  fusillade  in 
their  faces.  They  returned  my  fire  as 
they  came.  I  heard  the  bullets  whistle 
by  me ;  and  as  they  faltered  and  began 
to  turn,  I  felt  some  one  pinch  my  arm. 
One  last  shot,  and  what  was  left  of  the 
beggars  took  to  their  heels  and  vanished 
into  the  dark. 

Behind  me  the  uproar  still  continued. 
I  threw  away  my  empty  revolvers  and 
drew  my  sword.  To  the  left  two  bodies 
lay  close  together  on  the  floor;  and 
advancing  across  the  hall  was  Miguel 
Anguiana  with  a  seam  of  red  down  the 
side  of  his  face.  The  women  had  fled 
to  the  other  side  of  the  room ;  the  men 
were  coming  behind  Miguel  toward  me. 

"Tom!"  he  shouted. 

"Quick!"  I  answered,  saluting  him 
with  my  sword.  "  Ten  men  are  attack 
ing  the  treasury!  I  —  I  — "  and  then 
he  began  to  dance  a  sort  of  jig ;  the 
room  began  to  turn  at  the  strangest 
sort  of  angles  ;  the  pinching  of  my  arm 


A   Matter  of  State          185 

made  the  screaming  of  the  women  fade 
into  a  sort  of  melancholy  chant  and 
gradually  die  away  into  a  murmur. 

I  found  that  the  wound  was  only 
slight  when  I  awoke  to  contemplate  my 
arm.  I  was  lying  in  a  white  bed  in  a 
room  trimmed  in  green  and  gold.  I 
sat  up  in  a  dazed  way  and  tried  to  recall 
what  had  happened.  In  the  next  room 
some  one  was  singing  softly,  and,  to 
attract  attention,  I  coughed. 

It  was  Dolores  that  entered,  and  she 
smiled  when  I  asked,  "  How  did  it 
come  out?" 

"  Everything  is  quiet,"  she  answered. 
"Miguel  is  now  in  control  of  every 
thing.  He  was  proclaimed  Provisional 
President  this  morning." 

"And  Vasquez?" 

"Dead." 

"His  men?" 

"Dead." 

"  The  treasury  ? " 
13 


i86    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"  Safe." 

"And  I— " 

"You  will  be  our  guest  for  some  time 
to  come,  I  hope." 

"Then  the  revolution — " 

"Is  entirely  over." 

And  so  it  was.  When  I  went  out 
the  next  day,  everything  was  peaceful 
and  quiet.  That  night  I  sat  in  Man 
uel's  room  and  talked  it  over  with  him. 
He  was  exceedingly  happy  over  his 
new-found  powers,  and  had  his  head 
bandaged. 

"Malcom,"  he  said,  "you  saved  my 
life,  and  I  want  you  to  understand  that 
anything  you  wish  in  Guataragua  is 
yours  for  the  asking.  What  do  you 
say  to  Secretary  of  State  ?" 

I  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  Then 
I  laughed.  "  To  be  stabbed  in  the  back 
next  week,"  I  added. 

"No,  Tom;  you're  wrong  there," 
he  returned.  "  It 's  true  that  the  people 
don't  care  much  for  the  Gringos,  as  they 


A  Matter  of  State          187 

call  you;  but  you'll  be  safe  enough 
here,  now  that  Vasquez  is  out  of  the 
way.  Besides  Cienfuegos  has  ended  all 
of  Darrios's  schemes  in  Frisco." 

"And  Banks?" 

"  Drunk  and  aboard  a  liner  bound  for 
China.  That 's  why  he  did  n't  appear 
to  claim  his  berth.  Come!  What  do 
you  say?  " 

I  told  him  to  let  me  think  it  over,  as 
I  was  rather  upset  by  the  suddenness 
of  his  offer.  It  isn't  every  day  that  a 
fellow  is  appointed  Secretary  of  State 
of  a  republic,  be  it  ever  so  small.  I 
wandered  out  into  the  darkness,  leaving 
him  to  talk  over  matters  of  state  with 
an  attache  who  came  in. 

I  walked  along  the  portico.  The  air 
was  heavy  and  thick.  Not  a  breath  was 
stirring.  Below,  among  the  trees,  I 
heard  the  tinkle  of  a  guitar;  and  as  I 
went  down  the  broad  steps  I  made  out 
a  figure  in  white  seated  on  a  bench  at 
the  corner  of  the  building. 


i88    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"What  do  you  suppose  your  brother 
has  done,  Miss  Dolores  ? "  I  asked  as 
I  approached  the  fair  serenader. 

She  expressed  her  inability  to  guess. 

"He  has  offered  me  the  position  of — 
well,  vice  himself — promoted." 

"And  you  '11  stay  for  good  ?  " 

"I  haven't  decided." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  will — ,"  she  started, 
and  then  was  suddenly  silent. 

"  Would  you  really  like  me  to  stay? " 
I  asked,  coming  closer. 

She  nodded. 

"  But  I  have  one  more  year  at  col- 
lege." 

"Is  that  so  much  to  give  up  ?  " 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  be  silent.  I 
looked  down  on  the  bay,  which  re 
flected  the  yellow  light  of  the  moon, 
and  for  the  moment  could  almost  fancy 
myself  back  on  the  Berkeley  hills  in 
front  of  the  library  looking  out  through 
the  Gate.  A  red  and  a  green  light 
appeared  together  coming  around  the 


A   Matter  of  State          189 

point  of  land  to  the  south  of  the 
harbor. 

"If  I  should  stay,  would  you  — 
you—" 

"  I  would  sing  all  your  college  songs 
to  you  to  keep  you  from  being  home 
sick,"  she  laughed.  "Oh!  I  know 
them,"  and  straightway  she  swung  into 
the  familiar  strains:  — 

uOh!     have  you  seen  the   heavens  blue  — 
heavens  blue — " 

I  started  and  listened  eagerly.  She 
sang  it  through,  and  ended  with  a 
flourish:  — 

u  A  Californian    through    and   through ;    our 
totem  he,  the  Golden  Bear !  " 

"Miss  Dolores,"  I  asked,  "what 
vessel  is  that  below  there  just  coming 
in?" 

"  The  Benito^  on  its  return  trip.  But 
you  won't  go  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Dolores.     I  'm  sorry  to 


IQO    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

leave  such  kind  friends,  but  I  think  I 
shall." 

«  But— but— "  she  faltered,  "  you  '11 
come  back  ? " 

"  Perhaps." 

"And  you  really  are — " 

"  I  'm  going  back  to  Berkeley,"  I 
said. 

And  I  went. 


Shadows 

By  Ralph  E.  Gibbs 

IT  was  a  bit  of  meadow  in  the  High 
Sierra;  a  scant  oval  of  flower-starred 
verdure — a  gem  of  sunlit  emerald,  set 
in  the  sad  immensity  of  the  forest.  Its 
strip  of  plashy  sod,  walled  about  by  the 
somber  firs  that  cast  long  shadows  across 
it,  was  the  birthplace  of  a  brook — a 
cold  stream  that  murmured  away  down 
through  the  whispering  solitude  of  trees 
till  it  flung  cheerily  over  the  cliffs  to 
swell  the  torrent  in  the  canyon  below. 

Far  below,  beyond  the  hazy  foot 
hills,  the  plain  already  lay  parched  and 
brown  in  the  summer  heat,  but  here  in 
the  meadow  was  the  joy  of  spring.  The 
retreating  snow  had  only  lately  uncov- 


192    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

ered  the  sodden  earth, — ^so  lately  that, 
a  stone-throw  yonder,  under  the  close 
vault  of  the  forest,  there  still  lingered  a 
patch  of  white,  bespattered  with  brown 
fir-needles  and  pollen -cones  that  had 
fallen  and  thawed  and  frozen  again  into 
its  surface. 

Only  thus  lately  had  the  snow  melted, 
yet  already  the  boggy  open  was  matted 
thick  with  vivid  green, — with  velvet 
moss,  dotted  with  a  pigmy  forest  of 
frail  -  stalked  capsules,  and  grass  and 
sedge  unfurling  their  powder-shedding 
panicles  of  feathery  bloom,  and  all 
about  were  sprinkled  the  mountain 
buttercups,  and  the  violets,  blue  and 
white  and  yellow.  Then,  there  were  a 
host  of  potentillas,  creamy  and  golden, 
and  the  dwarf  mimulus  standing  tiptoe 
to  lift  its  small  freckled  face  above  the 
turf,  with  the  rosy  clusters  of  the  dode- 
catheon  nodding  over  them ;  while  here 
and  there  the  columbine  swung  its  ban 
ners  of  scarlet  and  gold  on  some  little 


Shadows  193 

island  of  grass-tuft,  moated  about  by 
runnels  of  water  that  wandered  and 
joined  and  parted  again,  and  trickled 
down  through  Yosemites  a  hand's- 
breadth  deep,  whose  moist  walls  hung 
red  and  russet  with  the  lace  of  roots. 
Then,  sometimes,  the  vagrant  waters 
were  gathered  into  a  sedge-fringed  pool, 
where  some  old  moldering  log,  half- 
sunk  in  the  moss,  barred  the  way,  offer 
ing  a  dry  eminence  where  the  silent- 
flitting  ouzel  perched  on  a  gnarl  and 
prinked  its  feathers  in  the  soft  sunshine, 
or  where  the  frog  climbed  up  to  warm 
himself,  gazing  round-eyed  about,  till, 
as  one  approached,  he  plunged  back  into 
the  pool  with  a  flourish  of  legs  and  a 
stirred-up  cloud  of  mud. 

In  tranquil  silence,  save  for  the  frog's 
sudden  croak  that  startled  the  echoes 
uncannily,  or  the  plaintive  quaver  of 
an  unseen  solitary  bird  that  haunted  the 
tree-tops,  the  little  meadow  basked  in 
the  light  and  watched  the  fluff  of  cloud 


i94   Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

that  drifted  across  the  blue  sky  beyond 
the  fir-tops.  It  was  not  the  flat  painted 
blue  of  the  lowland  sky,  but  a  deep 
translucent  blue  that  almost  let  one  see 
through  into  the  universe  beyond, — a 
dark,  fathomless  blue,  where  the  sun 
floated  splendid  in  inconceivable  space. 
Near  the  lower  end  of  the  meadow, 
where  the  scattered  waters  began  to  come 
together  into  a  mountain  brook,  a  trail 
crossed.  Only  to  a  sharp  eye  was  it 
visible  as  it  wound  from  the  west  softly 
down  through  the  trees — a  barely  per 
ceptible  depression  in  the  muffling  brown 
carpet  of  fir  and  pine  needles,  untrod 
den  as  yet  since  last  winter's  snow  first 
sifted  through  the  branches.  Where  it 
dipped  into  the  enameled  green  of  the 
meadow  the  trail  vanished ;  but  one 
seeking  to  follow  it  would  observe  that 
where,  midway  of  the  trackless  green, 
an  ancient  log  stretched  its  crumbling 
length  across  the  way,  the  passing  feet 
of  a  generation  had  scuffed  out  a  fur- 


Shadows  195 

row  through  the  rotten  wood.  Then, 
on  the  farther  edge  of  the  meadow, 
reassured  by  an  old  blaze  on  a  lichen- 
crusted  pine — an  old  scar  that  would 
scarce  catch  the  eye  of  the  skittering 
chipmunk — the  trail  emerged  and  un 
dulated  away  through  the  hush  of  the 
solemn  firs  till  it  rose  above  them  to 
an  indiscriminate  scramble  over  the  frost- 
reft  granite  of  the  divide. 

This  was  the  theater.  And  when 
the  shadows  of  the  western  trees  had 
crept  across  the  meadow  and  climbed 
the  trees  on  the  east  till  only  their 
slender  tops  still  caught  the  level  rays, 
there  entered  upon  the  scene  an  actor. 
Along  the  trail  from  the  west  walked 
a  man,  breathing  deeply,  as  though  he 
had  come  fast  from  far  down  the  moun 
tain.  He  was  heading  for  the  pass  and 
the  plains  of  Nevada.  Before  him  he 
drove  a  donkey  loaded  with  bags,  pan, 
pick — a  prospector's  outfit.  The  pack 


1 96    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

had  been  hurriedly  put  on.  Things 
dangled  untidily,  and  the  blanket-roll 
that  topped  the  pack  had  worked  lop 
sided  and  wabbled  as  the  burro  stepped. 
The  man  strode  hastily  and  prodded 
the  poor  beast  with  his  rifle-butt  till 
with  a  rattle  of  pot  and  frying-pan  it 
broke  into  a  mincing  trot.  Here  and 
there  in  the  meadow  their  feet  slumped 
in  the  lush  turf  with  a  slopping  noise. 
Where  the  debris  of  the  old  log  was 
soft  under  foot  and  a  frog  went  plop 
into  the  water,  the  man  paused.  He 
was  quivering  with  a  determination.  His 
face,  sweatily  glistening,  was  stamped 
just  now  with  an  unvacillating  resolu 
tion  grotesquely  unnatural  to  it.  He 
looked  around,  calculating  the  fitness 
of  the  place,  as  though  the  act  he  in 
tended  were  a  drama  requiring  an  ex 
ceptional  staging.  The  burro  seized 
the  chance  for  a  drink.  It  gulped  in 
a  clucking  rhythm.  In  fitful  impa 
tience  the  man  kicked  the  burro  and 


Shadows  197 

they  passed  on  across  and  up  into  the 
thickening  dusk  of  the  trees. 

Soon  the  man  returned  alone  and 
looked  back  along  the  way  he  had  first 
come.  At  the  very  moment  a  halloo 
came  faintly  reverberating  through  the 
columned  forest,  and  "  Oh,  Bill !  " 
seemed  to  float  over  the  trees  and  sink 
through  the  evening  air  into  the  quiet 
meadow.  He  paid  no  heed  to  the  call, 
but  his  under  lip  twitched  uncontrol 
lably.  He  withdrew  to  where,  near  the 
blazed  pine,  a  pair  of  tamaracks  grew, 
joined  at  the  root,  with  a  cleft  above 
just  wide  enough  to  pass  a  gun-barrel. 

The  shouting  sounded  nearer. 

"  Wauhoo  !  Bill !  Come  back  here, 
you  damn  fool !  " 

But  Bill  was  rigidly  silent  behind  the 
twin  trees. 

Another  man  and  another  burro 
came  forth  into  the  diffused  glow  of 
sunset.  The  man  stopped,  as  the  other 
had  done,  at  the  old  log. 


198     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

"Oh,  Bill!  Come  back  here,  and 
we  '11  divvy  up  even." 

He  began  in  a  shout  that  wavered 
down  to  a  conversational  pitch,  as  he 
peered  about,  perplexed  and  half-appre- 
hensively,  as  though  Bill  might  step 
from  behind  any  tree.  He  held  up  a 
buckskin  sack  and  waved  it  tentatively. 
Then  his  eye  caught  the  line  of  Bill's 
tracks,  straight  on  across  the  meadow. 
He  shaped  his  hands  to  his  mouth  to 
call  again,  but  stiffened  with  a  tremor, 
wavered,  and  sank  in  a  disorderly  heap 
as  the  report  of  Bill's  rifle  seemed  to 
jar  the  very  leaves  from  the  trees,  and 
the  echoes  came  clattering  back  from 
the  granite  peaks.  The  phlegmatic 
burro  slanted  its  ears  at  Bill  as  he 
approached,  and  finally,  finding  itself 
unheeded,  strolled  off  down  stream, 
knocking  its  pack  against  the  trees  as 
it  went. 

Bill's  thoughts  were  in  a  haze.  He 
threw  out  the  empty  shell,  vaguely 


Shadows  199 

marveling  that  so  little  a  thing  should 
be  so  potent.  He  straightened  the 
body,  and  regarded  it,  stretched  on  the 
cool  grass.  Little  wisps  of  green,  and 
a  violet,  white  in  the  growing  dusk, 
peeped  between  the  idly-spread  ringers. 
It  was  a  narrow  face,  and  pale  but  for 
the  oozing  spot  in  the  forehead. 

Bill's  wrath  was  spent.  He  was  still 
as  intrepid  as  any  man  would  be  who 
had  dispassionately  weighed  his  griev 
ances,  and  merely  apportioned  dire  jus 
tice.  He  even  remarked  the  excellence 
of  his  shot — plumb  between  the  eyes. 
There  was  not  much  blood,  and  Bill, 
with  a  few  scooped  handfuls  of  water, 
washed  it  away.  He  dashed  water  on 
the  grass  till  it  seemed  innocently  green 
again.  It  was  growing  too  dark  to  see 
well. 

And  now,  what  to  do  ?  Before,  when 
he  was  mad,  he  had  thought  to  simply 
leave  it  here  for  the  wolves,  or  had 
shunned  to  think  of  that  at  all.  He 


200     Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

was  no  longer  mad  —  neither  sorry. 
He  was  simply  even  with  Charley  now, 
and  served  him  right.  Not  to  say 
there  was  n't  good  in  Charley.  Yes, 
there  was  always  a  good  deal  to  like  in 
Charley ;  only  he  wanted  to  run  things 
too  much.  No  man  could  stand  that 
forever,  and  a  lot  of  old  scores  were 
paid  now.  Still  there  came  back  to 
Bill  the  days  when  Charley  drove  the 
express  team  at  Quartz  Hill,  and  used 
to  let  Bill  drive  when  the  boss  was  out 
of  town.  Now  that  it  came  to  the 
point,  he  could  n't  leave  old  Charley 
here  for  the  wolves  to  snarl  over. 

He  had  heard  people  talk  about  a 
"  Christian  burial."  The  phrase  seemed 
something  occult — a  sort  of — 

God !  what  a  fool  to  stand  mooning 
this  way !  Down  in  the  valley  they 
must  be  on  their  trail  by  now,  tracking 
like  hounds, — closing  on  him  relentless 
ly  as  the  night.  It  meant  that  if  he 
were  not  well  over  the  pass  by  to- 


Shadows  201 

morrow,  he  had  as  well  join  Charley  at 
once. 

But  he  would  have  time  for  this  first. 
He  tried  to  lift  the  body,  but  its  lump 
ish  weight  seemed  to  make  mute  resist 
ance.  He  slipped  on  the  wet  grass 
and  his  load  tumbled  limply.  The 
head  knocked  back  against  the  log,  and 
Bill  winced.  He  stooped,  and  with 
clumsy  fingers  closed  the  wide  eyes. 
They  opened  again.  He  forced  the 
lids  down  once  more  and  held  them. 
Still,  despite  his  pains,  they  remained 
half-open,  as  though  covertly  watching. 
At  last  he  grasped  the  body  under  the 
arms,  and  dragged  it  along,  shuffling 
backwards. 

A  few  rods  above  the  trail,  and  as 
many  from  the  twilighted  meadow,  be 
tween  three  giant  firs,  was  a  little  hol 
low,  curtained  about  by  the  darkness 
of  the  woods.  Here,  where  day  brought 
no  sunshine,  where,  under  the  close- 
14 


202    Under  the  Berkeley   Oaks 

vaulting  firs,  the  wreckage  of  dead  trees 
lay  moldering,  and  crawling  blind  things 
burrowed  endlessly  in  the  rottenness, 
where  unwholesome  fungi  waxed  fat 
and  pallid  in  unending  twilight,  Bill 
at  last  laid  down  his  burden.  He 
brought  it  thus  far  for  no  reason.  With 
out  will  to  choose,  he  had  dragged  it 
blindly  on,  until  in  the  hollow,  stum 
bling  against  an  old  stump  that  glowered 
with  phosphorescence  where  he  kicked 
it,  he  was  forced  to  pause. 

Gouging  the  dank  mold  with  fingers 
and  knife,  Bill  scooped  a  trench  while 
Charley  lay  dumbly  waiting  beside  it. 
Bill  reflected  on  how  cantankerous  Char 
ley  used  to  be  if  kept  waiting  for  any 
thing;  and  now  he  must  wait  for  his 
grave,  patiently.  Oddly  the  thought 
stirred  in  him  a  vague  pity  for  old 
Charley. 

Under  the  trees  the  deep  shadows 
had  dilated  and  merged  into  a  chill  en 
wrapping  darkness.  Only  it  seemed  to 


Shadows  203 

Bill  that  a  lambent  radiance  spread  from 
the  upturned  face  of  the  dead  man. 
The  face  was  the  one  pale  blot  on  the 
immaculate  dark.  It  was  only  dimly 
discernible,  but  Bill  could  see  it  clearly, — 
with  the  dark  spot  on  the  forehead,  and 
the  inscrutable  eyes.  He  could  see 
nothing  else,  and  it  harassed  him.  He 
would  have  covered  up  the  face,  but 
that  a  sort  of  moral  inertia  would  only 
allow  him  to  dig,  dig.  And  then  he 
began  to  think  that  he  saw  it  when  his 
eyes  were  shut. 

He  dug  fast  through  the  leafy  humus. 
Then  it  became  hard  to  dig,  and  still 
not  half  deep  enough.  Unseen  rocks 
tore  his  hands.  Baffling  roots  mocked 
his  frantic  hacking.  His  knife  struck 
blindly  upon  a  stone  and  snapped. 
Without  pause  he  dug  on.  He  might 
have  built  a  fire  for  light,  but  he  never 
thought  of  it.  Yet  he  was  thinking  all 
the  time;  that  was  the  torment! 

A  wind  came  down  from  the  icy  sum- 


204    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

mit.  It  swayed  the  boughs  with  a 
whisper,  and  then  it  moaned.  Far  over 
head  the  tree-tops  shivered  and  bowed 
in  the  gust.  Below,  the  forest  teemed 
with  small  noises  —  a  thousand  tiny 
voices.  A  twig  fell;  branches  creaked. 
Bill,  half-erect  and  nerve-tense,  strained 
to  listen.  Then  for  a  moment  he  cow 
ered,  with  a  gasp  of  heart-gripping 
terror.  A  whelming  burst  of  sound 
seemed  to  rend  the  very  darkness.  And 
suddenly  Bill  gurgled  a  laugh,  and  re 
lapsed  in  an  ecstasy  of  trembling.  It 
was  only  the  braying  of  his  burro  which 
he  had  tied  near  the  trail  close  by. 

Still  he  dug  deeper.  It  was  cold. 
Where  he  kneeled  the  chill  earth  sucked 
the  life  from  his  bones ;  yet  fever  throb 
bed  in  his  head,  and  his  lips  stuck 
together.  It  was  not  deep  enough,  but 
he  must  get  water  and  a  rest.  Soon  the 
moon  would  rise  and  make  it  easier  to 
finish, —  and  then  away  for  the  pass,  and 
safety ! 


Shadows  205 

He  stumbled  out  to  the  meadow, 
feeling  the  way  with  stretched  arms. 
He  lay  on  the  frosty  grass  and  drank, 
but  the  freezing  water  strangled  him. 
In  the  cold  half-light  of  the  stars  he 
crossed  the  meadow  and  crouched 
against  a  tree's  furrowed  base,  facing 
back  to  the  east,  waiting  till  the  moon 
should  mount  above  the  black  wall  of 
the  forest.  He  wished  that  he  had 
brought  his  rifle,  to  back  up  his  over 
strung  nerves.  Now  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  watch,  and  to  bear  the 
ingenious  tortures  of  memory. 

No ;  he  would  not  recall  the  past. 
It  was  safer  to  think  of  the  future — of 
to-morrow.  Ah  !  how  the  sun  would 
shine  over  there  to-morrow!  He 
would  have  done  with  this  task  and 
would  stand  on  the  Sierra  crest  at  dawn 
to  see  the  glorious  sunrise  upon  the 
eastern  plain.  Only  to  sleep  now  !  to 
lie  snug  against  the  rock  and  forget ! 
But  he  could  face  it  out;  and  to- 


206    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

morrow,  down  on  the  warm  foot-hills, 
where  the  air  is  hot  and  still,  and 
dreamy  with  the  spice  of  chaparral  and 
pine,  he  would  stretch  him  in  the  shade 
and  rest  his  heart  with  looking  on  the 
peaceful  hills  of  brown  and  hazy  pink 
and  olive, —  and  watching  far  off  how 
the  sun  dazzles  on  the  lava-slope. 

For  Bill  loved  the  sun -browned 
hills;  and  not  the  awesome  high  moun 
tains;  though  Charley  liked  the  cold 
gray  peaks.  But  Charley  liked  many 
things  that  Bill  did  not.  Maybe  Char 
ley  was  right.  He  always  outdid  Bill 
at  school.  Charley  knew  a  great 
deal  —  and  where  was  it  now  ? 

The  stars  shone  brilliant  in  a  deep 
sky.  Bill  had  heard  it  said  somewhere 
that  dead  men's  souls  went  to  the  stars 
—  to  other  worlds.  Better  worlds, 
most  likely.  He  wondered  whether  he 
himself  could  find  a  better  star  up 
there.  Bill  seemed  not  much  use  in 
this  world,  anyway.  Better,  perhaps, 


Shadows  207 

if  he  could  trade  places  now  with  Char 
ley.  He  entertained  a  vague  commis 
eration  for  his  wretched  self. 

And  Charley  was  dead  !  What  did 
it  mean,  anyway  ?  He  recalled  stories 
that  he  had  heard.  Was  there  really  a 
spirit  ?  something  besides  that  senseless 
thing  that  lay  over  there  under  the 
trees  ?  something,  say,  that  would  stand 
there  smoky-white  and  dim  to  accuse 
him  when  he  went  back  ? 

Would  the  moon  never  come  ?  Bill 
was  shaking  miserably  from  cold,  and 
more  from  horror  of  the  indefinable. 
He  was  not  sure  whether  this  were  the 
first  night  that  he  had  watched  there. 
He  was  waiting  for  something  which  he 
dreaded. 

The  breeze  was  rising  again.  The 
grass  was  crisp  with  frost,  and  soft  foot 
falls  were  stealing  over  it.  There  was 
an  evil  something  —  a  malign  intelli 
gence,  hovering  in  the  night.  He 
strained  his  eyes  at  the  shadows  that 


208    Under  the   Berkeley  Oaks 

closed  in  his  dim  circle  of  vision. 
Around,  behind  him  the  black  void 
was  sibilant  with  secret  whisperings, 
the  dark  was  pregnant  with  intangible 
shapes  that  conspired  against  him,  that 
slipped  behind  him,  and  vanished  when 
he  turned  upon  them.  Suddenly  his 
breath  caught.  There  beyond  the 
meadow  something  glimmered  white, 
vague,  vanishing  when  his  eyes  strove 
most  to  see,  and  reappearing  when  he 
turned  away.  There !  it  was  there ! 
With  face  set,  and  eyes  never  turning 
from  it,  Bill  rose  totteringly.  He  could 
not  feel  his  legs,  but  went  unswerv 
ingly  towards  it,  across  the  meadow. 
He  felt  an  exultation  of  despair.  His 
brain  was  dead,  and  still  something,  not 
himself,  moved  his  body.  It  was  a 
mad  spirit,  akin  to  the  shadows  —  the 
fleeting,  evading  things  that  flocked 
around  him,  jeering  in  voices  of  the 
wind,  whirling  in  fantastic  derision  about 
him,  only  shrinking  into  the  dark  be- 


Shadows  209 

fore  the  menace  of  his  knife.  They  all 
came  dancing,  writhing,  trooping  behind 
him.  Now  they  flew  between  him  and 
the  stars.  Through  water  he  stumbled, 
and  he  fell  in  a  gully;  but  he  went  on, 
and  no  longer  knew  fear.  He  had  an 
army  of  shadows  at  his  back.  He 
moved  his  arms,  and  led  on. 

Ah!  That  white  thing  was  only  the 
little  snow-bank.  Never  mind!  He 
would  go  on  now,  in  despite  of  the 
moon.  There  was  something !  It  fled 
from  him,  and  they  ran  madly  among 
the  trees.  The  treacherous  throng  at 
his  back  pressed  on  his  heels, —  pushed 
and  tripped  him.  He  flung  upon  them, 
striking  at  and  through  them, —  raved, 
and  cursed  them. 

Ah,  but  they  should  not  make  him 
forget  the  grave! — nor  the  dumb  thing 
that  must  be  buried,  else  it  would  follow 
him,  with  half-shut  eyes,  forever,  seek 
ing  to  put  the  brand  of  its  own  fore 
head  upon  his.  He  coursed  crazily 


210    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

through  the  aisles  of  darkness,  and 
dashed  at  the  taunting  phantasms  that 
glided  everywhere.  They  mocked  and 
tripped  him,  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
sieze  him.  He  lunged  again  at  the 
fleering  shadows  that  danced  closer  in  a 
circle,  goggling  at  him  with  glow-worm 
eyes;  and  their  chance  came. 

Over  a  loose  log  he  pitched  headlong 
and  rolled  down  into  a  hollow.  Some 
thing  was  there  that  grappled  with  him; 
and  a  maniacal  Hell's  legion  was  upon 
his  back  and  tearing  at  his  throat. 
Fighting,  he  struggled  up,  threw  his 
knife  hand  back  to  strike,  and  lurched 
forward. 

The  meadow  was  scarcely  awakened 
to  the  sweetness  of  a  new  day  when 
there  rode  up  the  trail  the  Sheriff  of 
Calaveras  and  his  deputy,  in  pursuit  of 
the  men  who  had  held  up  the  Milltown 
stage.  Midway  of  the  meadow  the 
Sheriff  dismounted  and  picked  up  a 


Shadows  211 

small  bag  of  gold.  Thence  they  saw 
where  something  had  been  dragged. 
The  flowers  struggled  to  raise  their 
bruised  heads,  and  the  grasses  beckoned 
all  one  way,  obliquely  up  to  a  point  of 
the  woods.  The  men  followed.  In  the 
hollow  they  found  two  bodies,  the  up 
per  clenching  in  stiff  fingers  a  broken 
knife. 

The  Sheriff  was  a  man  of  discern 
ment  and  few  words. 

"Umph!  More  use  to  us  than 
them/'  he  said,  hefting  the  gold. 

He  looked  at  the  deputy,  and  the 
deputy  nodded  at  the  Sheriff. 


The  Second   Edition 

By  Agnes   Crary 

T  HAD  been  in  town  all  the  morning, 
*  shopping,  making  the  last  prepara 
tions  for  the  prune-harvest.  Shopping 
meant  new  trays  for  the  dryer  and  a 
contract  for  Chinese  fruit-pickers ;  but, 
you  see,  I  still  clung  to  the  old  femi 
nine  word.  I  had  just  started  for  home, 
when  I  remembered  it  was  the  third 
Tuesday  of  the  month,  and  I  had  sol 
emnly  promised  to  go  to  the  next  meet 
ing  of  the  Tuesday  Club.  The  last 
time  I  had  been  there  was  in  the  height 
of  the  ribbon  period,  and  there  were 
more  bows  to  the  square  foot  of  that 
parlor  than  I  put  trees  to  the  acre. 


The  Second  Edition         213 

Now  the  rooms  were  all  white  and  gold, 
and  drapes  floated  triumphantly  over 
the  scene. 

The  girls  were  all  there, —  the  old 
girls,  I  mean, — and  they  talked  of  Em 
ily  Dickinson  in  the  way  we  used  to  go 
on  over  Browning.  You  see,  I  had 
belonged  years  ago,  when  the  Brown 
ing  wave  first  struck  California.  They 
had  been  up  to  the  times  so  long,  it 
was  getting  hard  to  find  fresh  subjects, 
and  so  they  fell  on  Miss  Dickinson 
with  all  the  joy  of  a  new  sensation. 

I  had  to  own  I  did  not  know  who 
she  was,  and  I  felt  they  were  thinking, 
"  Poor  Louise !  What  a  case  of  ar 
rested  development !  She  's  nothing 
but  a  farmer  !" 

As  I  tried  to  follow  the  discussion, 
I  found  I  was  no  longer  in  touch  with 
the  group  of  dainty  women.  I  could 
not  help  thinking  they  had  a  few  more 
views,  and  a  more  patient,  waiting  look 
than  when  I  used  to  know  them.  It 


214    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

was  horrid  of  me,  but  the  old  nursery 
rhyme, — 

"  Little  Sally  Waters,  sitting  in  the  sun, 
Waiting  and  sighing  for  a  young  man,  " 

kept  running  in  my  head.  I  always 
thought  Sally  must  have  lived  near 
us.  They  were  so  bright,  though,  and 
wore  such  dainty  gowns,  and  talked 
with  such  authority  upon  the  latest 
opinions  of  the  Nicene  Creed,  that  I 
felt  more  and  more  of  a  Philistine,  and 
was  glad  when  it  was  over  and  I  was  in 
the  fresh  air  again. 

The  drive  out  to  the  orchards  is  al 
ways  a  delight,  and  in  the  summer 
evenings  I  would  not  have  one  of  the 
eight  miles  taken  away.  Bacchus  and  I 
go  over  it  so  often  that  I  don't  have  to 
drive,  but  can  just  lean  back  and  rest. 
It 's  my  time  for  thinking  and  airing 
what  few  day-dreams  my  busy  life  has 
room  for.  But  that  night  I  could  not 
slip  into  the  mood,  when  the  broad 


The  Second   Edition         215 

stretches  of  field,  the  vinelands,  and, 
back  of  all,  the  foothills,  spoke  to  me, 
and  the  sunset  glowed  like  "the  light 
that  never  was  on  land  or  sea." 

The  club  had  amused  me,  and  yet  it 
brought  up  all  I  had  hoped  to  do  when 
I  had  first  belonged,  the  travels  and 
studies  long  ago  crowded  out  in  the 
unforeseen  struggle  to  keep  a  roof  over 
Aunt  Katherine's  head  and  give  Ben 
the  education  he  so  much  coveted.  I 
had  succeeded  ;  but  in  spite,  of  success 
the  old  hopes  had  died  hard,  though  I 
seldom  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  airing 
them.  It  is  too  hard  on  the  eyes.  I 
soon  turned  to  business  and  prunes 
again,  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  from  my 
New  York  agent.  There  was  one  also 
from  Ben,  and,  best  of  all,  one  from 
Cora, —  she  used  to  belong  to  the  Tues 
day  Club,  too,  but  while  she  was  in 
Chicago  she  had  met  and  married  Doc 
tor  Vail.  I  ran  through  the  description 
of  her  last  new  suit,  and  the  new  carved 


216    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

screen  in  the  church,  looking  for  the  bit 
of  fun  or  tenderness  I  had  learned  to 
depend  on. 

What  I  found  very  effectually  turned 
the  channel  of  my  thoughts:  — 

"  The  Doctor  says  he  wants  my  old  letters 
to  you  that  I  wrote  when  I  had  broken  our 
engagement.  He  says  he  knows  I  was  per 
fectly  wretched,  but  don't  you  send  them  — 
he'd  be  just  too  conceited.  I've  half  a 
mind,  though,  to  read  him  those  you  wrote 
when  in  New  York.  We  're  both  so  fond 
of  you,  dear,  I  know  you  would  n't  care. 
Baby  Louise  has  learned — " 

I  dropped  that  letter  with  scant  cere 
mony.  Cora  had  been  the  soul  of 
honor  before  she  married,  and  so  had 
the  Doctor,  but  here  they  were  funding 
their  varied  confidences  for  mutual 
benefit  in  the  reprehensible  way  I  had 
suspected  most  married  people  of 
doing.  I  had  written  those  letters 
when  I  was  some  ten  years  younger,  and 
theyNvere  not  such  as  the  members  of 


The  Second   Edition         217 

the  Tuesday  Club  wrote.  I  had  long 
ago  disposed  of  most  of  Cora's  and 
mine — well,  I  had  asked  her,  com 
manded  her,  to  burn  them,  and  now 
she  and  the  Doctor  were  reading  them, 
or  at  least  thinking  of  reading  them, 
and  in  my  vexation  I  gave  a  jerk  at  the 
reins  which  so  disturbed  Bacchus's 
meditations  that  he  stopped  short  in 
amazement.  I  planned  a  good  many 
replies,  and  even  began  one  stinging 
little  note  with  "Dear  Madam";  but 
when  I  thought  of  Cora's  surprise  and 
pain,  I  had  not  the  heart  to  send  it. 

The  next  few  weeks  were  so  full  of 
work  I  had  no  time  to  think  of  any 
thing  else,  but  flew  about  directing, 
testing  the  dips,  watching  with  the  sat 
isfaction  only  a  farmer  knows  the  low 
orchard-wagons  with  their  load  after 
load  of  purple  prunes.  Then  the  long 
trays  of  drying  fruit,  glossy  black  from 
its  dip,  lying  out  on  the  sloping  hill 
side,  represented  the  completion  of  long 


2i8    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

care  and  forethought.  By  the  time  I 
saw  the  last  carload  shipped  all  rancor 
was  buried  deep  under  ninety  tons  of 
prunes,  and  I  was  too  proud  of  my 
year's  work,  too  happy  and  tired,  to 
write  any  but  a  gentle  note,  even  to 
such  a  perfidious  person  as  the  friend  of 
one's  girlhood  who  marries. 

I  wrote,  and  in  a  casual  way  said : — 

"By  the  way,  about  those  letters, —  I 
know,  of  course,  you  were  fooling,  for  you 
are  too  honorable  to  show  them  j  but  I  want 
them  back.  You  are  too  romantic  for  the 
mother  of  three  children,  but  they  would  fit 
in  so  perfectly  with  this  old  vine-covered 
farmhouse,  and  a  woman  who 's  getting  as 
moss-grown  as  her  house.  Just  think  how 
the  eternal  fitness  of  things  would  be  pre 
served  !  Tie  them  with  blue  ribbon  and  put 
in  a  few  rose-leaves,  and  I  '11  provide  a  hid 
den  drawer  in  some  desk,  or  may  have  a 
panel  closet  fixed  in  the  library.  Then 
imagine  what  a  stock-in-trade  they  would  be 
to  little  Louise  when  she  becomes  the  famous 


The  Second  Edition         219 

novelist  ;    for,    if    I    remember,  they   had    a 
good  kind  of  real  joy  and  sorrow  in  them." 

I  should  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  how 
anxiously  I  waited  for  the  answer. 

"  Fidus  Achates,"  as  Ben  named  the 
young  Hoosier  I  had  imported  to  be 
general  factotum,  thought  I  was  losing 
my  head  when  I  insisted  on  having  the 
mail  daily.  But  I  did  so  want  to  look 
into  the  old  life  a  little.  At  last  they 
came — a  good  bundle  of  them.  Cora 
had  taken  me  at  my  word,  and  tied 
them  in  yards  of  baby  ribbon.  Achates 
touched  the  bundle  gingerly,  and  I  was 
thankful  Aunt  Katherine  was  n't  around 
when  it  arrived. 

That  night  I  slipped  into  a  real 
dinner-dress  and  pinned  a  rose  into  my 
hair,  and  tried  to  feel  some  kinship  to 
the  girl  who  had  written  the  notes.  I 
was  so  gay  Aunt  Katherine  became  fes 
tive,  too,  and  it  was  late  before  I  had 
the  library  to  myself.  The  curtains 


220    Under  the   Berkeley   Oaks 

were  drawn  close,  and  as  I  looked  about 
the  room  filled  with  survivals  of  the 
wreck,  as  Ben  called  the  few  remains 
of  household  gods,  I  felt  quite  like  the 
Louise  Hunter  of  old.  But  I  undid 
the  mocking  blue  ribbons  with  trem 
bling  fingers.  Inside  was  a  note  from 
Cora : — 

"  DEAR  ;  I  really  did  want  to  read  a  little 
from  those  letters  to  Jack;  for  I  wanted  him 
to  see  deeper  into  your  life  than  you'  now  let 
us.  But  when  I  came  to  look  them  o'er,  I  felt 
that  you  would  rather,  perhaps,  even  I  should 
not  see  them  now.  I  read  a  little,  and  cried, 
and  took  up  Baby  Louise  to  comfort  me. 
You  never  seemed  nearer  than  to-night.  I 
wish  I  could  send  Cora  with  them,  for  she 
would  climb  up  into  your  lap  and  comfort 
you.'* 

I  turned  to  the  first.  It  was  dated 
"New  York,  Jan.  i,  1881."  How 
well  I  remembered  writing  it !  We  had 
just  come  home  from  a  New  Year's  Eve 
dance,  and  after  all  the  rest  were  asleep 


The  Second   Edition         221 

I  sat  before  the  fire  and  in  the  flicker 
ing  light  scribbled  off  the  rollicking 
little  note  to  Cora.  I  could  see  the 
whole  picture, — my  old  room  with  its 
pretty  litter  of  girlish  belongings,  the 
warm  dressing-gown  mother  had  laid 
out,  and  the  bunch  of  blush  roses 
father  had  insisted  on  pinning  on  to  my 
gown  with  his  own  dear  old  hands.  It 
was  some  time  before  I  read  any  further. 
I  felt  the  difference  too  keenly.  But 
as  I  went  on  I  found  a  sense  of  strange 
ness,  almost  alienation,  coming  over 
me.  I  saw  a  friendship  deepening  until 
all  life  seemed  rooted  in  one  life.  But 
when  I  came  to  the  letters  of  the  quar 
rel,  and  read  the  passionate  oratory  of 
that  young  soul  who  felt  all  slipping 
with  the  severance  from  one  dearer 
than  life,  I  had  only  a  sense  of  pro 
found  pity.  I  wanted  to  take  the  girl 
in  my  arms,  and  tell  her  how  life  meant 
more  than  she  could  then  grasp,  and 
give  to  her  of  the  mingled  bitter-sweet 


222    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

that  had  come  to  me  with  years  of  daily 
toil.  Through  the  night  I  read,  and 
before  me  stood  my  old  self,  and  across 
the  bridge  of  years  I  spoke  to  her  of 
possible  conquest  and  peace.  It  was 
early  dawn  before  I  stole  off  to  sleep ; 
but  the  tears  that  fell  like  rain  were  not 
for  the  girl  and  her  lover,  but  for  the 
old  room  with  Ben's  toys  on  the  floor, 
and  mother's  care  and  father's  roses. 

For  some  days  the  loneliness  was 
almost  more  than  I  could  bear.  Poor 
old  Aunt  Katherine  with  her  constant 
comparisons  but  accentuated  it.  If 
only  Ben  were  here!  But  he  was  busy 
and  happy,  and  I  could  not  let  him 
know  how  I  missed  him,  and  almost 
hated  to  see  him  grow  beyond  need  of 
my  constant  care. 

I  plunged  deeper  than  ever  into  a 
series  of  experiments  I  had  been 
making  with  insect  pests  that  infested 
our  valley,  and  had  long  talks  with 
Achates  on  the  comparative  value  of 


The  Second  Edition         223 

silver  and  French  prunes,  under  the 
new  method  of  grafting.  Through  the 
winter  I  worked  on  my  "pestiferous 
papers,"  as  Aunt  Kate  insisted  on  call 
ing  them,  and  the  next  spring  they  were 
accepted  by  the  publishers,  Wells  & 
Company. 

I  was  very  proud  of  the  little  pam 
phlet.  It  looked  so  scientific  in  its 
plain  green  cloth.  I  dedicated  it  to  the 
Tuesday  Club,  who  tried  to  be  mildly 
interested.  Cora  and  the  Doctor  were 
delighted,  and  Baby  Louise  should 
learn  her  letters  out  of  it,  Cora  said. 

Through  the  summer  Wells  &  Com 
pany  found  my  work  a  good  invest 
ment  "and  hoped  to  undertake  a  simi 
lar  work  in  the  future.  Sincerely,"  etc., 
etc.  My  success  gave  me  a  feeling  of 
power,  and  I  began  to  think  of  a  plan  I 
had  cherished  ever  since  I  first  read  the 
letters. 

I  would  answer  them  from  my  pres 
ent  point  of  view,  rearrange  the  few 


224    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

telltale  facts,  and  publish  all  in  the 
form  of  a  story.  The  more  I  thought 
of  it  the  more  it  grew  on  me.  Now, 
when  Bacchus  and  I  went  to  town,  we 
jogged  along  slower  than  ever,  and  I 
wrote  long,  loving  letters,  full  of  coun 
sel  and  cheer  for  the  Louise  Hunter  of 
the  past.  I  told  her  all  about  my  early 
life,  and  drew  little  pen-pictures  of  the 
Orchards  and  its  neighbors.  For,  you 
see,  I  wanted  to  rouse  the  girl.  At  last 
I  really  believe  she  did  feel  better. 
Only,  the  telling  was  not  all  on  one 
side,  for  sometimes  I  would  have  to  do 
an  immense  amount  of  reasoning,  or  go 
dig  in  the  rose-garden,  to  prove  to  my 
self  that  the  old  Louise  was  not  right, 
after  all. 

It  was  a  good  country  book,  and 
breathed  of  a  whole,  full  country  year. 
I  had  much  trouble  over  christening  it. 
I  wrote  at  last  to  Ben  about  it,  but  so 
lightly  that  he  never  imagined  I  was  in 
earnest,  and  suggested  "A  Brace  of 


The  Second  Edition         225 

Geese"  as  a  good  significant  title.  I 
was  more  cast  down  than  ever,  but  after 
long  meditation  at  last  settled  down  on 
"A  Sheaf  of  Letters." 

I  had  the  most  delightful  time  after 
it  was  accepted.  Every  time  I  got  a 
leter  from  Wells  &  Company,  I  used  to 
go  to  the  Tuesday  Club.  They  had 
boxed  the  compass  in  regard  to  subjects, 
and  were  on  Chaldee  architects  then.  I 
sat  up  in  front  and  spoke  as  one  having 
authority.  The  girls  were  surprised; 
but  I  used  to  smile  when  I  thought 
what  awaited  them,  and  wondered  if 
they  would  "  interpret "  my  story. 

It  came  out  just  at  Christmas-time, 
and  had  quite  a  run,  it  was  so  beauti 
fully  gotten  up.  The  Tuesday  Club 
gave  a  five-o'clock  tea,  and  wanted  me 
to  tell  how  far  I  had  used  the  synthetic 
imagination,  and  if  it  had  a  spiritual 
purport.  One  of  them  said  it  was  an 
allegory  between  youth  and  old  age, 
which  rather  nettled  me ;  but,  after  all, 


226    Under  the  Berkeley  Oaks 

their  appreciation  was  sweet,  for  I  felt 
one  or  two  of  them  really  began  to 
love  me.  I  had  a  beautiful  letter  from 
Ben ;  he  was  so  proud  of  me !  He 
had  come  near  having  serious  trouble 
with  an  English  professor,  who  said  the 
story  did  n't  have  a  satisfactory  denoue 
ment.  I  blessed  Ben  for  his  zeal,  but  I 
did  n't  tell  him  that  some  way  in  my 
secret  heart  I  agreed  with  the  English 
professor.  But,  on  the  whole,  Louise 
Hunter  the  elder  kept  the  upper  hand 
very  well. 

I  could  hardly  wait  for  June  to  come. 
I  was  going  East  to  see  Ben  graduate. 
I  was  also  going  to  pay  off  the  few 
debts  that  remained  after  the  old  home 
had  been  sold.  Even  Aunt  Katherine's 
discovery  of  a  few  gray  hairs  could  not 
dampen  my  spirits ;  for  I  felt  positively 
giddy,  and  raced  about  the  ranch  like  a 
child  of  ten.  One  day  Achates  brought 
me  a  whole  handful  of  mail,  with 
"  Here  's  your  crop  o'  letters."  You  see, 


The  Second  Edition         227 

he  had  heard  of  my  book,  too.  Among 
them  was  one  from  Wells  &  Company, 
and  one  whose  foreign  stamp  and  old- 
time  but  never-to-be-forgotten  hand 
sent  the  blood  flushing  into  my  face. 

I  opened  it  last,  and  after  I  read  it 
sat  for  some  time  looking  with  eyes  that 
saw  not  on  the  green  lawn  and  rose 
hedge,  and  there  came  to  me  then  a 
sense  of  peace  and  fulfillment  that  still 
glows  in  my  heart. 

But  when  Aunt  Katherine  came 
up  with  the  question,  "  What  ails  you, 
child  ?  "  I  kissed  her,  and  showing 
her  the  letter  from  my  publisher,  said, 
"  Auntie,  my  story  has  just  reached  its 
second  edition." 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NOV?    184S 

|  9   f\iitfff» 

JUI3019" 


DEC   3  1969*9 
JttU20'69-8PB 


RECEI 


VED 


»*> 


LD  21-100m-9,'48(B399sl6)476 


YB  7b72 


925460 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY     „ 


